


Guidelines

by ChutJeDors



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fix-It, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Kidnapping, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter to the rescue, Post-Civil War, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, he also cries in like every scene, he is angsty and miserable and SAD, infinity war and endgame who?, no Rogues hate in this house, slightly doubtful overuse of protocols, steeb: i have a plan. ATTACK, we all love Steeb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20860079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChutJeDors/pseuds/ChutJeDors
Summary: Peter watches through half-lidded eyes how Mr. Stark is wrenched away, how his body seems to give up the fight, how the Gas Mask Men drag him into the smoke, so far that Peter can’t see him anymore. Somebody slams a car door shut, and silence follows as a van speeds away from the scene.Peter trembles on the ground, motionless and bleeding, and thinks,I can’t lose him too.in which Tony is taken by HYDRA, and Peter is ready to do anything to get him back. Including teaming up with one Steve Rogers.





	1. Follow These Easy Steps To Make Your Afternoon SUCK

**Author's Note:**

> ABSOLUTE IRONDAD & SPIDERSON AHEAD. What a ride writing this has been! As it usually goes with pretty much every fic I've ever written, initially I got frustrated over not finding the exact thing I wanted to read, and then ended up writing it. This time it's my first fic in the Marvel fandom, so. I've been spending ten months on the spectrum of "this is the most fun and refreshing thing to write" and "HOW DO CHARACTERS WORK, I ABSOLUTELY SUCK AT THIS", _so_... BE GENTLE, IT'S MY FIRST TIME
> 
> Funnily enough one of the most difficult things has been trying to write American English. Those that know me know that I'm terribly precise when it comes to details, and I've done extensive research on the US and the language in an order to stay loyal to the source material. Since I'm more familiar with all things British, (and on top of that my beta is English,) it's possible that some details have escaped me. If you spot any errors, cultural or linguistic, let me know!! (you wouldn't believe the pain of changing every "favourite" to "favorite" and "recognise" to "recognize", and so forth. gahh. also i physically CANNOT write the word "awesome" without feeling absolutely dreadful. the amount of times i've changed "mate" to something else is ridiculous)
> 
> This fic cheerfully ignores both Infinity War and Endgame, and takes place a little over a year after Civil War. Some small things and character references have been loaned from Spider-Man: FFH, however IW and EG will NOT EVER happen in this universe because I SAID SO, and I'm the author so I DECIDE. <strike>who needs canon if canon does not have Tony Stark</strike>
> 
> I haven't written this with any specific ship in mind; you can read it as Tony/Pepper if you like, or Tony/Steve if that's more your cup of tea, or without any pairing at all. Just get as much joy out of the fic as you can!
> 
> Three people I absolutely NEED to thank, and without whom this would've never advanced past the first 5k: [Daisy](https://thefrogchorus.tumblr.com/), my wonderful beta and friend; Kaisa, who has read this about a million times and has kept me firmly away from the Marshmallow Steeb, who has feelings and doesn't frown; and my bestest best friend and absolute love of my life [Puck](https://imaginebeatles.tumblr.com), who hasn't seen any of the movies, doesn't know anything about the fic, and still cheered me on endlessly. I LOVE you, and I _will_ marry you.

Peter Parker is prone to have odd things happen to him. Whether it comes in the form of radioactive spiders, muggers dressed up in Pokémon costumes (honestly, did they really think Peter wouldn’t punch the heck out of a gun-wielding Charizard?) or a flock of geese imprinting on him while he’s swinging through Central Park, then said flock proceeding to follow him for days… Well, weird stuff will undoubtedly find him. And for the most part, Peter is pretty accustomed to it, doesn’t even blink when the next thing happens.

Still, having a weekly meeting with Tony Stark, that is, _ Iron Man, _ the _ Hero, _ in a small ice cream parlor in the middle of Queens never ceases to make him feel like he’s dreaming.

“No, no, you see,” Mr. Stark says, waving his hand around while the other is holding a surprisingly modest combination of espresso and mocha stuck into a cone. To Peter’s slight outrage, he didn’t even take any sprinkles on it, which certainly goes against the usual media perception of Tony Stark and his preferences in ice cream — and it _ totally _ goes against _ Peter’s _ opinion on what is the best ice cream. “You can have too much of a good thing. It ruins you. I’m just showing you a good example here.”

“I don’t see how rejecting sprinkles is a good example, Mr. Stark,” Peter says and shovels a spoonful of his raspberry-caramel-tutti-frutti-bubble gum ice cream into his mouth. All of his ice cream is stuffed into a large cup that is close to overflowing with sprinkles. Mr. Stark told the scooper to add _ all-extras _ to Peter’s portion while waving his wallet in the air temptingly, and since the scooper knows them well enough by now, he went out of his way to actually doing just that. The extra _ 100$ _ bill he received most likely didn’t discourage him either. At least _ Peter _ would build a fort of ice cream for _ that money. _

Then again, he would never be able to work in an ice cream shop, since he’d eat all of it. _ All Of It. _

Despite his utter love for ice cream, Peter doesn’t feel too comfortable with Mr. Stark pushing a literal _ tower _ of it onto him that is dripping in sprinkles and caramel syrup. Aunt May has always insisted on not living on somebody else’s expense, but as persuasive as Peter can be with his Stormtrooper wallet in hand, Mr. Stark is _ worse. _ And while Peter still gets flustered and insists on paying for the ice cream himself, Mr. Stark is way too effective in shutting him up.

(Notably by stuffing Peter’s mouth with ice cream. Which, hey, is cool.)

“I’m compensating. For the insanely huge amount that you have in your Mount Doom,” Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at Peter’s ice cream tower behind his dark lenses. He’s wearing a hoodie and sunglasses, since it wouldn’t do good for him to be recognized after all.

That sight, on top of everything else, is one that used to make Peter’s brain go haywire in the beginning of their mentor-mentee-ship, a year and a half ago: Mr. Stark in something else than a three-piece suit.

(Peter is pretty sure the sunglasses cost more than Aunt May’s whole wardrobe put together, though. Mr. Stark is so _ rich. _ Waaay too much so for Peter to fully grasp it. Like, so rich he could have golden embroidery in his pajamas. _ Do _ his pajamas have golden embroidery? Peter wants to know, but he doesn’t dare to ask. But it would be _ soooo _ cool to have golden pajamas. 

Peter has Iron Man pajamas — a fact he’s _ never, ever _ going to mention, even though he’s sure Mr. Stark already knows — he seems to know everything — but their supposedly golden color is a bright yellow instead. Peter is not one to discriminate yellow, but he has to admit that having golden pajamas would sure be awesome.)

Peter doesn’t point out that Mr. Stark is fully responsible for the Mount Doom. Nor does he mention that the man’s attempt of showing a good example is pretty wasted after the blatant effort of filling Peter up with tutti-frutti ice cream and sprinkles.

“Yeah, okay, that’s cool,” he chirps instead, and Mr. Stark levels him with a knowing, although amused gaze; he isn’t fooled, and knows exactly what Peter is thinking.

“I mean,” Mr. Stark continues, because he’s never one to stop talking, and Peter hangs onto every word he says with something akin to worship, _ “some _ of us don’t burn calories the same way you do. It’s just natural that _ some _ wouldn’t want sprinkles, just like some hate cross-skiing. Or bungee-jumping, have I told you I hate bungee-jumping?”

“You do it all the time in the suit!”

_ “Kid. _ There’s a _ difference _ between having a flying metal armor versus an _ elastic band _ keeping you from becoming fondue on the ground. Did you try the bubble gum yet?”

“Uh,” Peter says and looks down at his Mount Doom. The bubble gum ice cream is buried underneath everything else, and he starts digging it out by chomping down the sprinkles. There are so many of them. If there had been this many sprinkles on the actual Mount Doom, Frodo and Sam would’ve never made it.

Mr. Stark leans back in the booth, his gaze shifting towards the window. He looks relaxed, more so than in the last few weeks; he’s been drowning in work lately, and… Peter _ has _ inarguably been falling from rooftops and such a _ little _ too often, which, oops, and on top of that it doesn’t look like the man has been sleeping properly. Peter kind of wants to ask whether he can help in any way, do _ something _ so that Mr. Stark gets a good night’s sleep for once, but he knows the answer would be a simple _ “just make sure _ ** _you_ ** _ don’t give me any grief”. _ But now the man’s shoulders aren’t too tense, and his jokes have a light tone to them.

It’s nice. It makes Peter feel good, since he knows it’s the ice cream session that relaxes Mr. Stark, because a) ice cream and b) Mr. Stark is always more relaxed when he has his own two eyes on Peter, _ personally, _ making sure he isn’t doing anything stupid (as said by Mr. Stark himself).

It gives Peter a sense of purpose, of being somewhat needed. But only a little bit, because of course he isn’t _ that _significant to Mr. Stark, just a small side project that comes faaar behind all the other more important work he has… but during this weekly one-hour sitting, Peter feels like he’s important to Mr. Stark.

It’s different to getting to work in Mr. Stark’s workshop with him. Peter is essentially _ expendable _ in there. Mr. Stark could invite other people into the workshop as well (not that he does, but he _ could) _ and in the end Peter isn’t _ needed _ in there, since Mr. Stark can manage fine on his own… but here? In this ice cream parlor? Peter is the only one who gets to have this.

Which sure is _ awesome. _

“Um, hey, Mr. Stark, hypothetically speaking—” Peter starts thoughtfully through the sprinkles cracking between his teeth, “—if there was a bad guy who really, _ really _liked ice cream—”

“Don’t even _ finish _ that sentence. Nuh-uh,” Mr. Stark points a finger at him, turning his gaze back on Peter. He looks amused though, which Peter takes as a positive sign. Also, a part of him swells with pride every time he makes Mr. Stark laugh, because not everyone can do that. What even _ is _ his life in these days??

“But, uh, I was _ just _wonder—”

“No. No, starting the sentence with ’hypothetically speaking’ and then continuing with a ’bad guy’ and ’ice cream’ in the same breath, nope. I don’t even want to know. This subject is _so_ _finished _already— Was the bubble gum good?”

Peter’s eyes fall back on the ice cream tower. The bubble gum is still unreachable, and he continues his efforts of fighting valiantly through tutti-frutti and sprinkles. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at him before taking a bite of his ice cream — a _ bite, _ when a normal person would _ lick, _ but then again, nothing about Mr. Stark is ordinary, and Peter doesn’t question it — if Mr. Stark bites down into a half-melted ice cream, then it is the right thing to do, and Peter is more than happy to follow the example. Even though… he feels a bit dubious, especially when Mr. Stark’s ice cream looks dangerously close to beginning the dreaded procedure called “melting”.

“You know what kid? We should _ really _ make this ice cream rendezvous a thing. Really, a _ thing. _ I’ll tell Pepper to make it a weekly appointment, I don’t care what meetings Ross or the UN or the SI are trying to shove up my as— my, er, very-well refined back of jeans—”

“Ew,” Peter makes a face and a few sprinkles spurt out of his mouth. Gross. He definitely doesn’t want to think about… _ that. _ It would be like acknowledging that Aunt May is hot. _ (EWWW. _ Well, she _ is, _ because if Peter called her ugly he’d get a bullet in the head, but, STILL.) And a bit like thinking about your dad naked, no one wants to do _ that. _

(Not that Peter would… would think that Mr. Stark is like a… um. It’s just, well, Mr. Stark is just, he’s kinda become, well, he just sometimes shows tendencies similar to, um, how Ned’s dad is? Towards Ned of course, not towards Peter, even though Mr. Leeds is quite fond of him too. But Mr. Stark sometimes _ feels _ the same to Peter as Ned’s dad feels to Ned.

…Well, it doesn’t make a lot of sense when Peter puts it that way, but sometimes… _ sometimes _ Mr. Stark is very… okay, dad-ish. Which sure is a mere figment of Peter’s imagination, and also purely impossible, because “Mr. Stark” and “dad” can’t in any way fit into the same thought, right? 

And still— still Mr. Stark has become _ so _ important. Peter seeks for his approval more than anyone’s, even Aunt May’s. Because while she can throw a mean threat, Peter doesn’t fear _ losing _ her due to a mistake. Whereas Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark could walk out at any moment, and then Peter would lose _ another _ father-figure.)

(Oops, was that _ word _ really in his head just now? Backspace, backspace — oh God, May is going to _ kill _ him and throw his body to the Central Park geese that imprinted on him.)

“But it’s already been a weekly thing for like, three months,” Peter points out. Mr. Stark coughs and looks out of the window.

Peter narrows his eyes. A couple of sprinkles sprinkle on the table quietly from his spoon, and for his enhanced ears it sounds like droplets of rain hitting a windowsill.

“…Mr. Stark, are you ditching your actual work for the ice cream?”

Mr. Stark coughs again.

“Well, _ technically _ speaking — and mind you, when I speak technically, I know what I’m talking about — being a superhero _ is _ my job, and this. This is.” Mr. Stark waves his ice cream cone in the air. Peter worries a little, since he can see the now slightly melted ice cream threatening to fall. “This is essentially a part of mentoring you. Which is part of the superhero job. So _ no, _ I’m not ditching my _ actual _ work for the ice cream.”

“Does Ms. Pepper _ know?” _ Oh no, Mr. Stark’s ice cream is sliding down at an alarmingly fast rate. Why, why did he _ bite _ into it instead of licking?? Peter _ shouldn’t _ question Mr. Stark’s judgment, _ but… _

“…I fear if you mention her, she _ will. _ She has a sixth sense, I swear to _ God…” _

“Mr. Stark,” Peter actually has to fight a smile, a strange warm happiness blooming in his chest, and he tries to hide behind the tower that has notably shrunk with the ice cream constantly melting. “Is there somewhere _ else _ you should be right now?”

“No.” Mr. Stark snaps. “No, absolutely not. Kid, we’re _ not _ doing this. How is the bubble gum?”

Peter ducks his head, unable to stop the shy smile that takes over his mouth, and continues digging for the bubble gum ice cream.

* * *

Peter has a problem. The ice cream thing really bothers him. He tries to bring the subject up again when they leave the parlor and start heading for Mr. Stark’s car that is parked some 300 yards away to throw off all the possible paparazzi — and apparently, if Mr. Stark is here without _ permission, _ also Ms. Pepper and her bloodhounds. They’re now going back to the Avengers Compound — it’s summer and Peter’s been spending a couple of days there, and will stay at least a couple more. 

It’s been amazing, as always, being next to Mr. Stark in the workshop, both of them working on their respective projects, lending a hand to each other when necessary. Currently Peter is searching for a way to stop the fabric of his mask from becoming grossly damp after he’s worn it for a couple of hours, but it’s tricky. He doesn’t know a thing about fabrics, for starters, and the mask should still be firm enough to protect his face, but he’s getting somewhere. He’s _ sure _ about it. At least Mr. Stark keeps saying so.

“But like, _ if _there was a bad guy who—”

“Parker, no criminal can be persuaded into surrendering with ice cream. _ End _ of discussion.”

Peter gapes at the man, who continues strolling down the street, hands in his pockets and somehow managing to look like he owns the world, despite the old battered hoodie making him look like a hobo. A somehow very expensive hobo.

“How did you know that’s exactly what I was gonna ask??” Peter bounces after him, voice rising an octave in astonishment.

Mr. Stark doesn’t answer, and when Peter catches up with him, he just gives a tight-lipped, conspiratorial smile, and lifts a hand to tap at his temple with a finger. They’re coming to a T-junction, and both Peter and Mr. Stark dutifully check for cars before heading for the crosswalk. There’s a lull in the traffic, the only car moving being a van further down the road.

“Noooo, but like, seriously!” Peter crunches his nose up, hopping from a white tile to the next, Mr. Stark looking at him with something akin to exasperated fondness. “C’mon, man—”

He feels it right then. 

A tingle right in the bottom of his spine, traveling like electricity through his back and up to his neck, and he _ knows. _

He doesn’t have time, and so he does the only thing he can think of, the only thing that _ matters. _

He throws himself against Mr. Stark to shield him just as the explosion goes off.

* * *

The first thing he registers is the screaming.

For a moment he can’t place himself. Has something happened to May? Has Ned changed Peter’s alarm to distorted screaming? Why does he feel like every bit of his body is burning — did he go to sleep with too many clothes on, and is now slowly stewing to death under his blankets?

Then Peter realizes that he _ isn’t _ in bed, it’s not a morning, and the screaming doesn’t come from an alarm clock.

He hears Mr. Stark next.

“Peter! Pete! Shit, _ shit, _ F.R.I.D.A.Y., stats—” the voice is cut off by a cough that seems to tear through his lungs. There is muffled, painful pounding at the back of Peter’s head and he doesn’t think that his eyelids have ever felt this heavy; not even every Monday school morning after a night of patrolling. Still, he can’t keep his eyes closed, can’t just lie motionlessly on his back (when did that happen?), can’t stay quiet when Mr. Stark sounds like _ that. _

“Mmm—” he lets out a helpless little sound, and the pounding in his head is now spreading down towards his neck. God, he feels dizzy and heavy, and it _ hurts. _ What happened?? Is Mr. Stark okay? He was swearing— Mr. Stark doesn’t swear in front of Peter! He goes to absurd and hilarious lengths to censure himself and everyone around to “protect Peter’s super-enhanced, _ underage _ ears”. Is he _ okay— _

_ “Kid??” _

Peter fights with all his might and manages to slide his eyes open.

It’s just an inch, but it’s enough. At first, he thinks that he has hit his head so badly that the world has gone gray, but after a soft inhalation and the following, painful cough make it clear that the problem is not in his sight. Everything is just covered in smoke.

Mr. Stark is hovering above him, knelt on the ground with his face marred by the kind of distressed expression that immediately has Peter’s heart plummet to the core of the earth. Mr. Stark should— should never look like _ that— _

He tries to say that it’s fine, that he’s just a little bit dazed and that the ice cream tower is pulsing a bit uncomfortably in his stomach, that’s all, Peter’s in mint condition (once he gets to his feet), but no sound comes out. C’mon, vocal cords! Do your job! Work for the right to freely inhabit his body!

“Okay, good, you’re awake, that’s the first step on the road to recovery— hang on, help is coming— right. _ Right _— eyes on me, Pete!” Mr. Stark snaps his fingers in front of Peter’s face, the sharp sound of it penetrating his ears like someone snapped a body in half.

_ Gross, Peter. So-not awesome, _ he thinks to himself, hazy and his head muddled.

Mr. Stark places his hand back on Peter’s shoulder (…back? When was it there in the first place?), looking devastated. But apart from that, he seems physically fine, if not a bit dirtied in the face, and Peter is glad about that. He managed to do at least something right.

“You shouldn’t have taken the brunt,” Mr. Stark starts, something shining behind the steel in his eyes. He is clearly trying to sound calm, but there’s a small quiver in his voice. 

Peter almost manages to push out a protesting sound; it wasn’t really a question — _ Should I save Mr. Stark or not? _ Peter would’ve done the same to anyone standing next to him at that moment.

He has to admit that the person having been Mr. Stark had even _ lessened _ any potential doubt of whether to sacrifice himself or not. He would _ always _ sacrifice himself for Mr. Stark.

“It’s alright, kid, we’ll— F.R.I.D.A.Y., fuck, why aren’t you _ responding??” _

F.R.I.D.A.Y. isn’t responding? Maybe Mr. Stark’s devices that carry her were damaged? It was one heck of an explosion.

How strong was it anyway, to have Peter on the ground like this? They must’ve been really close to it, like, right next to the bomb. Was it a bomb, though? Could water pipes cause an explosion like this?

But then there wouldn’t be smoke, would there..?

And just as the thought enters his head, figures with reaaally strange heads emerge from said smoke, and Peter has a small jab of exhilaration because, _ aliens!! Cool!!! _ before he realizes that the figures are people with gas masks.

And guns.

_ Mr. Stark has his eyes on Peter. _

Peter lets out a noise of pure terror, trying to push out a warning, but Mr. Stark reads it wrong. He starts leaning closer to Peter, opening his mouth to… reassure him? And Peter can’t _ move, _ can’t speak, can barely keep his eyes open, and no— _ no—! _

The three men that appeared grab Mr. Stark, pull him backwards and on his feet, and Peter has time to see confusion turn into fear in his eyes. He starts fighting, struggling against the hands that are dragging him away from Peter, and Peter wants to _ scream, _ desperation wrenching his guts _ — _ he needs to help, needs to get up _ now, _ because Mr. Stark needs him, and Peter can’t lose him, can’t watch _ him _ go _ too… _

Mr. Stark almost manages to square one of the men into the ribs with his elbow, and he stomps on another’s foot with his heel as hard as he can, straining to free his hands to push the button on his watch that would activate a gauntlet. He fights, tries to get away and towards Peter, and Peter hears him calling for F.R.I.D.A.Y., calling for the suit. He’s good; he’s clearly trained in martial arts, and Peter watches with hazy awe at his mentor preparing to kick some gas mask ass.

But just as it seems that he is gaining the upper hand, might manage to free himself and reach the gauntlet, a fourth man wearing a gas mask appears from the smoke.

He lifts a gun and points it at Peter.

Mr. Stark freezes instantly. His face drains of color.

Peter wants to tell him to continue fighting, but he can’t, and he just stares with blurry eyes at how the fourth Gas Mask Man clicks the safety off. God, this afternoon suddenly _ sucks. _

“I’ll do _ anything,” _he distantly hears Mr. Stark say, voice frantic and raw, and it has to be from the smoke and the explosion, because why would he sound like that otherwise? “Just leave him—”

“It seems,” the Gas Mask Man speaks idly on top of Mr. Stark, his voice adorned with an accent that Peter can’t place, only that it isn’t American — _typical, foreign bad guys thinking they can just _**_attack_**_ Iron Man like that, Peter bets they don’t even have _**_visas_** — “That there is something holding you back. Let me take care of that.”

He fires twice, and wow, Peter didn’t even _ know _ his stomach could hurt like _ this?? _ If the ice cream tower trickles out through the gun wound, he is going to be _ offended— _

Mr. Stark lets out a sound that blocks away everything else in Peter’s world. Gone is the sound of the sirens that howls through the air, coming closer and closer with every second. People’s screams and sobs disappear, as does the sound of something like air vents hissing, and something else clanging, and a dog barking, and people running, clothes swishing — everything disappears, except for Mr. Stark’s terrified voice.

“No— Peter! No, no, _ F.R.I.D.A.Y., _ dammit!! The suit— _ Peter!!” _

Peter watches through half-lidded eyes how Mr. Stark is wrenched away, how the man’s body seems to give up the fight and his ashen expression turns through shock into pure _ grief, _ how the Gas Mask Men drag him into the smoke, so far that Peter can’t see him anymore.

He hears the sound of Mr. Stark’s desperate calls of his name breaking into what could resemble a hoarse, choked-off sob, and then somebody slams a door shut, and silence follows as a car speeds away from the scene.

Peter trembles on the ground, burned, motionless, and bleeding, and thinks, _ I can’t lose him too. _

* * *

It takes four days for Peter’s wounds to heal. Four, because while usually a gunshot wound heals overnight, this time the two bullets shattered inside his stomach, and all the pieces need to be dug out (and he thinks he lost the ice cream too), and because his whole back is burned so badly from the explosion Peter thinks he can do a mean competition with a charred chicken wing. 

The first day he spends almost completely mulling in the tone of Mr. Stark’s voice when he called for Peter and thinking back to how the man had completely given up his efforts of breaking free when the gun was pointed at Peter. He thinks about the desperation turned to grief in Mr. Stark’s expression, and if the medical staff thinks Peter cries because of pain, well, it is for the better.

The second day, he calls Aunt May, and lies to her.

It was Rhodey who arrived to the scene of the explosion some vague time after Mr. Stark was taken (Peter is a bit hazy on details, such as the passage of time), and flew Peter to the Compound’s medbay immediately. Peter, never having been in real danger of dying, asked whether he could be the one to tell May about everything that had happened.

He’s lying left and right to the important adults in his life, and he feels terrible about it, but the absence of Mr. Stark is worse.

_ “Hello, sweetie,” _ Aunt May answers the call, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly, tears threatening to spill through his eyelids. God, he misses her already, but he doesn’t— doesn’t want her to worry, since he’s definitely going to be fine, and Mr. Stark’s disappearance is classified information for now, so he can’t really say anything about that either — _ and _ if May heard about his, uh, three-degree burn, she’d demand to speak with Mr. Stark, and…

_ “How are you? Having fun?” _

Seeing as Peter was always meant to spend these days at the Compound, Aunt May doesn’t question his two-day long radio silence. It’s also a very handy cover that Peter has thought through carefully while lying in the medbay, his body and heart aching.

“Yeah,” he says, aiming his tone to be carefree and happy. Like he’d sound if he and Mr. Stark were in the middle of an inventive workshop binge. He’s not sure if he succeeds, but the phone distorts his voice enough — he hopes. “It’s been so cool — uh, we’ve been working on this, uh, I’ve been doing— like, a couple of modifications on my mask, ‘cos I started thinking about what you said, you know—”

_ “That doesn’t it get damp after some time?” _

“Yeah! It totally does, so, so I’ve been working on that — Mr. Stark, he, h-he—” Peter swallows and squeezes his free hand into a fist against the bedsheets. “—He’s doing, um, it’s got something to do with nanotechnology. I don’t really get all of it.”

_ “Well, I don’t think I’d get any of it, so don’t feel too bad,” _May says with a humorous tone to her voice, and Peter forces a chuckle out.

“Hey, a thing though,” Peter starts, and May lets out an enquiring little noise, “—Mr. Stark asked me if I wanted to stay a little while longer — um, well, basically he said that I can stay as long as I want to—” Which is not a lie, only something that Mr. Stark said as a passing suggestion in the workshop a couple of days ago, and Peter’s not sure if the man really meant it, since it was such an off-handed comment.

_ “That’s great, isn’t it? It’s all fine by me, if you’re wondering.” _

“Y-yeah, I was gonna ask… I don’t know how long it’s gonna be exactly, but… but we’re kinda in the middle of this spree and—”

_ “Really, honey, take all the time you need. Just tell me when you’re coming home, so I’ll know to stock the fridge,” _May says warmly.

“Yeah, yes, of course. I think I’ll stay a while, ‘cos it’s— it’s such a good opportunity—”

_ “Yeah, have fun, you two. See, I _ ** _told_ ** _ you he cares about you.” _

Peter has to hold back a sob.

“I— I’m not sure, May,” he says, a little hoarsely, and May lets out a sympathetic little sound. Peter can imagine her tilting her head towards the phone, wearing that “oh, poor darling” expression.

_ “Peter… I’m telling you, you’re too modest about it. I spoke with him — he _ ** _really_ ** _ cares about you. I think,” _ and now there’s a teasing, conspiratorial tone in her voice, _ “that he imagines himself to be a bit of a faaath—" _

“May!!” Peter cries out, and the thought is too much, oh shit, he’s going to cry, and she’ll know that something is wrong the moment the first sob comes out—

May’s laughing, and Peter aches to throw himself into her arms and let her hide him from the world, but it’s… it wouldn’t work. She would fret herself into death. Or rather, she’d kill Peter for not telling her right away, and then she’d kill Mr. Stark for getting himself kidnapped, and then they would die. That’s how it’d go.

_ “You know it’s okay, don’t you?” _May asks, and Peter can imagine a glint in her eye, the sort that she gets when she’s trying not to laugh at Peter, but thinks he’s being silly nevertheless.

“Please, May, let’s not talk about it now,” Peter says, finding that whining doesn’t reveal him being near tears.

_ “Alright, sweetheart. Is he there? I could—” _

“No!!” Peter says quickly, and then desperately scrambles for something that wouldn’t make her suspicious. “Meeting! He’s got a— meeting, he’s in there, it’s probably gonna take a while.”

_ “Okay, okay,” _ she’s chuckling again. _ “Have fun, you two. And don’t forget to call your poor, lonely aunt from time to time.” _

“I won’t,” Peter swallows, knowing that he won’t be doing that any time soon. He doesn’t know what the future holds yet, but he’s pretty sure it contains something dangerous and that is _ completely _ against _ all rules. _But he doesn’t care, because his mind is slowly falling into an urgent drive that will do anything to get Mr. Stark back. And if it requires lying to Aunt May, well. Peter is prepared to risk his life in that way, too.

He tells Ned the truth, though, after he’s finished with his call. He just can’t keep it in anymore, and neither can he stop tears from finally falling as he writes the text, Mr. Stark’s been kidnapped, its been two days. I dont know what to do.

Ned’s answer comes after what Peter imagines is a shocked silence. 

what? how???????

the explosion two days ago, close to isabelle’s

he was there?

_ ‘I was there too,’ _ Peter thinks blankly before something jabs him in the guts (not a bullet, he’s had that already) and he remembers Mr. Stark’s cries again.

I was there too, he writes. There is another pause in Ned’s usually fast typing that sometimes makes Peter wonder whether his friend has enhanced speed in his fingers.

r u ok?

I wanna punch em in the face, he writes back, not commenting further on the state of his well-being. It doesn’t matter anyway; Mr. Stark must be faring worse than him by now.

It’s as if that text wakes something wild in him, since he spends the third day desperately wishing to punch someone in the face. The sense of urgency and frustration in his body has only increased overnight; _ why _ is he lying in the med bay when Mr. Stark— Mr. Stark has been _ kidnapped, _ right in front of him on top of that?! What Peter needs to do is to get up, and find him, and punch a couple of people in the _ face, _ and then bring him back home where he belongs, so that they can return to the ice cream parlor next week, because it’s… it’s a deal, now. They _ have _ to go back there. Mr. Stark said he’s going to make it a real appointment, he, he— he _ said— _

Peter can’t _ lose _ it. Can’t lose any of it.

He _ can’t _ lose Mr. Stark.

On the fourth day, Peter is up and chipper (not so chipper, but, well, he’s certain some face-punching will do the trick) which results in him sneaking out of the med bay. It’s one of the perks in being Spider-Man.

Well, he might _ not _be up and chipper by the standards of the medbay personnel, who are always making too much of a fuss anyway, but Peter doesn’t care. He can move, he can think, and those are the only things that matter.

Thus, he flees the medbay and dashes straight into Mr. Stark’s workshop. The sight of it empty makes his heart ache, because he is usually _ never _ alone in here. Mr. Stark is always strolling from table to table with papers in his hands, or spinning around in his saddle chair while examining the holograms around him, or staring at one of the screens with a deep, concentrated frown.

Or he’s building something that’ll probably explode later. They both like those the _ most. _

The workshop even smells like Mr. Stark. _ Not _ in a _ creepy _ way, because of course Peter hasn’t gone around smelling Mr. Stark, _ no, _ that would be just _ weird, _but there is a comforting scent of oil and metal in the large room that always lingers around Mr. Stark as well.

Peter stands by the door for a while, just basking in the _ feel _ of the workshop, before he snaps into action.

He can’t lose another moment. Mr. Stark has waited long enough.

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you… can I… is it possible that I— do I have the authority to, like,” he swallows, “to use Mr. Stark’s computer? Could I?” he asks and tentatively settles into Mr. Stark’s saddle chair, rolling himself in front of one of Mr. Stark’s computers by pulling at the table. He _ has _ his own desk in the workshop — _ wow _ — but he’s pretty sure that from Mr. Stark’s computer, he can access more information. He wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Stark has a child lock on some pages on Peter’s computer.

(He once tried to open a page on _ Moby Dick _ for a school assignment and was sent to a site that played a children’s song called _ Don’t put your trousers on your head. _ Mr. Stark started laughing so hard he fell from his chair. And then yelled from the floor, _ “put it on repeat! F.R.I.D.A.Y., is it on repeat?” _

Okay, there is definitely a child lock in Peter’s computer.)

There is a short silence during which F.R.I.D.A.Y. most probably checks her databases and calculates the answer.

Peter doesn’t know why it feels like a sympathetic silence instead.

_ “Yes,” _ F.R.I.D.A.Y. eventually answers. _ “Do you want my help?” _

Peter hesitates, then nods.

“Y-yeah, thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he manages, and at that exact second Mr. Stark’s screens flare into life. The latest project he was working on illuminates as a hologram around Peter — it’s nanotechnology, and while Peter is _ wholly _ invested in learning about it and has done his best in studying it, he still doesn’t quite understand what it is he’s looking at — before the holograms disappear, and Mr. Stark’s computers present a desktop background of a stylized Iron Man-mask, all of their contents wholly available to Peter.

“Awesome,” he breathes, because even though the situation is terrible and he still has that punch-y need in his guts, it is still _ amazing. _

“Can you pull up any video feed you have of the explosion?” He pulls himself back into his task, voice wavering as he remembers the crawl in his spine mere seconds before it all happened. He should’ve been faster — should’ve done _ more _ to save Mr. Stark, and it’s… it’s his _ fault _ that Mr. Stark was taken. It’s clear as a day, isn’t it? Mr. Stark wouldn’t have been outside like that anyway if it wasn’t for Peter.

So Peter’s going to do _ anything _ to get him back.

_ “All security cameras in the immediate presence of the explosion stopped working for ten minutes before and after the explosion,” _ F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, and Peter’s stomach plummets.

This suddenly seems a much bigger thing than what it initially might have been.

“I-is there any way then we can find the… the car he was taken in?” he asks, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. is silent.

_ “…I didn’t know he was taken in a car, although the possibility of that was almost 98,73%,” _ she says after a while, sounding hesitant. Peter inhales sharply — because doesn’t that mean… doesn’t that mean _ Peter _ knows more about the kidnapping than F.R.I.D.A.Y., aka _ anyone else _ does, and Peter’s— _ his _ memory of the attack is hazy at best. He remembers the Gas Mask Men (who are on his punching-list) and he remembers pain, and Mr. Stark’s voice and expression that leave Peter feeling cold and desperate… but he doesn’t recall anything that would be of significant use. He doesn’t know who the Gas Mask Men are.

He sits back in the chair and feels terribly like bursting into tears.

“B-but F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he stutters feebly, hoping _ so bad _ that this is not real, that this is just a dream and soon he’ll wake up in the medbay with Mr. Stark at his side, slightly pissed at Peter for having been caught in the explosion, but relieved altogether, and...

_ “I lost connection with the boss after the explosion. There was something disrupting me.” _

Peter bites down on his lip and looks around the workshop before turning his gaze back to the computer screens. Well.

“Let’s start with that, then,” he rasps, hunching over the keyboard. “Can you give me all the info you have on that disruption, please?”

_ “Always so polite, Mr. Parker,” _ F.R.I.D.A.Y. quips warmly, and pulls up a long, detailed log of her system’s functionality on the three screens in front of Peter.

After an hour, Peter’s frustration is going through the roof, because he can’t find _ anything. _ There hasn’t been a breach in F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s systems, since she has continued working in the Compound without problem, but the data regarding Mr. Stark’s phone and watch is all jumbled. It starts around the time they left the ice cream parlor, which is a few minutes before the explosion, and the data continues being… _ weird _(the worst word for describing anything scientific, but the only he can think of for now) for eight minutes after the explosion before the whole connection was cut.

Maybe a jamming device, then? Something strong enough to disrupt both the security cameras… and F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Do you think any phones were working nearby?” Peter asks, but before F.R.I.D.A.Y. can respond, there is another female voice. Peter nearly jumps out of his skin.

“No, and any device with a GPS wasn’t either... Come down, Peter. You’re still healing.”

Ms. Pepper comes towards him, and Peter squints at her from the ceiling where he conveniently landed after Ms. Pepper’s unfair jump scare. Slowly, he detaches his legs and lowers his feet closer to the ground before letting go with his fingers as well, landing softly on the balls of his feet.

Ms. Pepper looks terrible.

It’s not… a nice thought, though, so Peter replaces it with something else. Ms. Pepper looks… less _ refined _ than usual. She has a bit of _ red _ around the eyes. She’s… she’s a bit _ worried, _ but still perfectly terrifying, and very, very pretty.

“Y-you’re still very pretty, Ms. Pepper,” Peter blurts, and has a short, fleeting moment of his life flashing in front of his eyes before Ms. Pepper’s tense expression melts into a small smile that Peter can’t _ quite _ read.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says, her eyes gliding over the computer screens. Peter feels his face getting warmer, and he steps back a little, fingers squirming in the hem of his t-shirt. (It says _ I am Fe-Man. _ Last Christmas Peter got it from Mr. Stark, who knows very well of Peter’s love for science puns in t-shirts. However, Peter hasn’t worn it before out of embarrassment, so that Mr. Stark wouldn’t know just _ how _ important he is to Peter, and now… he feels terrible. Mr. Stark would’ve probably wanted to see him wearing it, would’ve wanted to see for himself that Peter _ did _ appreciate that present, and cherishes it secretly.)

(He’s never taking it off again.)

“Ms. Pepper, I’m— I’m, I’m really sorry. For what happened,” he says, and looks up in time to see Ms. Pepper step closer before her fingers curl around Peter’s wrist.

“Not your fault,” she says firmly. “Now, come on. There’s a lot to do.”

Peter can’t exactly refuse the invitation, and she pulls him out of the workshop and into one of the Compound’s conference rooms.

Oh.

Peter, despite having kind of lived in the Avengers Compound every other weekend, has never once met Vision. He’s familiar with Rhodey, and Ms. Pepper is the loveliest scary person he knows, after Aunt May that is, but he’s never met Vision.

So it comes as a bit of a shock to find the android sitting at the conference table, a somber expression turned towards Peter and Ms. Pepper as they enter. Rhodey is there as well, but other than that the room is empty.

It’s all that they have left, after the situation with the Accords.

Ms. Pepper points at a chair wordlessly after a gentle, comforting brush of her fingers against Peter’s, and he falls down into the seat despite the need of jumping up and down from the lack of doing the needed research, and moreover, from the lack of _ punching faces. _

“Good to see you up, Peter,” Rhodey nods at him, looking relieved despite the deep line of worry itched between his eyebrows. Peter nods back shyly, eyes sliding over to Vision.

He can’t really understand the amount of Mr. Stark’s genius for having built _ someone _ like Vision. Granted, he did it with Dr. Banner (Mr. Stark _ knows _ Dr. Banner! Has actually met him!! Has _ shaken his hand. _ Peter is _ shook.) _ but nevertheless… Mr. Stark is _ awesome. _

Peter’s eyes well up, and he discreetly starts wiping them with the hems of his sleeves. He’s pretty sure the adults in the room don’t miss the movement, though.

“Now that we’re all here, thankfully in one piece,” Ms. Pepper sighs, shooting a glance at Peter before she sits down at the head of the table, “I’d like to hear _ exactly _ what happened inside that cloud of smoke, if it’s not too much, Peter?”

Her tone is gentle and sympathetic, but at the same time Peter gets the feeling that he really doesn’t have a choice but to spill. And he understands, because now it’s clear that he’s the only one who knows what exactly went down — to a degree, because, well, circumstances. The worst circumstances.

Mr. Stark’s voice plaguing the back of his head, he hesitantly tells everything. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he’s busier tearing his sleeve apart. He is getting twitchy, wants to do something with his hands — _ punch people, and carry Mr. Stark to safety — _ and he spends a moment thinking wistfully of a red and gold fidget spinner Mr. Stark gave him a few weeks back, since _ “They’re the new hype now, and I thought it fits you. You’re always fidgeting. And I’ve had to replace the spinning mechanism of that chair twice. So, a fidget spinner. You two should get along.” _

_ (“You should get one too, Mr. Stark.” _

_ “Didn’t I just say? I already have one. You fidget for the both of us. Spin it, kid.”) _

“No, wait, let me backpedal here,” Ms. Pepper holds up a hand. “You’ve been going with Tony to an ice cream parlor on a weekly basis, for _ three months?” _

Peter doesn’t really dare to say it out loud, since he doesn’t have Mr. Stark to share Ms. Pepper’s wrath with, so he only nods. Faintly. It’s the _ tiniest _ of nods, and he hopes that it lessens Ms. Pepper’s firepower he is sure to experience any second now.

Ms. Pepper’s nostrils flare — _ Peter is going to die — _before she seems to deflate.

Huh.

“Right. That explains _ so much. _ Well, I think I’m better off trying to reschedule the board meeting than pull him away from any time spent with you,” she sighs, and wait, _ what— _

“At least he isn’t skipping them for getting drunk out of his as…_ ssimilated _ inner organs—” Rhodey coughs and glances Peter’s way, but there is a small twitch in the corner of his lips.

Peter lowers his gaze back on his sleeves, not even finding Rhodey’s attempt of not swearing in front of him funny; instead it takes all of his willpower not to start crying.

Mr. Stark has been skipping meetings for _ Peter. _

Where are all the bad guys when one needs to punch something?

“T-they used me as a… as a way of getting to him — the ice cream hour has been so regular,” he mumbles, something like nausea pulsing in his throat, almost blocking his voice. “How could… Did they—”

“They couldn’t have known about Spider-Man,” Rhodey says firmly, easing some of the nausea by stating something Peter didn’t even realized he was worrying about.

“They couldn’t have, if… if they thought that t-two bullets are enough to kill me.” Peter grimaces, and Ms. Pepper winces.

“To be fair,” Rhodey says quietly, “you were looking kinda… _ bad _ on top of… having been shot. If I hadn’t had a pulse… I mean, you were conscious too but… when I arrived, before I knew...”

“Am I to draw the conclusion that Mr. Stark is under the illusion of Mr. Parker being dead?” A calm voice suddenly pipes up and it takes Peter a second to realize it’s Vision who’s spoken — next he feels a bit light in the head, accompanied by pink sparkles in the back of his brain because _ Vision, the Avenger, knows his name, wow _ — and then he registers what the android _ said. _

Oh no. Oh no no _ no. _

“Oh God,” Ms. Pepper says, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “He— he couldn’t? He knows about Peter’s healing factor, he is _ very _ aware of it—”

“…Peter _ did _ look, um, pretty dead when I arrived on the scene,” Rhodey finishes gravely, but Peter doesn’t _ want to hear it. _ He can’t— can’t think of it, and it can’t be so, Mr. Stark _ has _ to know that Peter is still alive, he _ has _ to, he absolutely _ can’t _ believe anything else!

“I’m— I’m gonna p-punch them in the face,” he says in a voice that doesn’t belong to him, feeling like he can’t breathe, because even though he isn’t exactly sure where he stands in Mr. Stark’s life or how important Peter really is to him, he _ knows _ that if he died… Mr. Stark would be devastated.

_ “I feel like that’s on me.” _

Peter almost wants to throw up. That way, the ugly feeling of bile in the back of his throat would disappear.

Rhodey nods like he agrees with him, while Ms. Pepper looks a bit sick. And _ sad. _

“I would suggest trying to find Mr. Stark first,” Vision says, and Peter takes a few deep breaths, resuming fiddling with his sleeve. He hadn't meant to use any more strength than necessary, but it’s already coming apart under his fingers, the fabric stretching and tearing from being subjected to his super-strength.

“It would help if we knew who did it,” Rhodey mumbles, and Peter feels a pang of utter hopelessness. They don’t even know _ that _ fact.

“Considering the pattern of the kidnapping, the quality of the bomb, and the knowledge of Mr. Stark’s whereabouts, I would guess it is a bigger organization,” Vision responds, his tone controlled and always smooth. Peter envies him; he is still fighting tears, and doesn’t believe he could get a word out without vomiting.

“Then it is possible that we get a ransom demand in a few days. For now... all we can do is wait, and see if we can find out more about the attack,” Ms. Pepper says, sounding steel-like. She’s definitely scary and someone Peter _ doesn’t _ want to cross. Rhodey nods, and then turns towards Peter, speaking.

“Tony’s left us instructions on what to do in case something like this happens again—” _ AGAIN. _ Right. Peter is going to lock Mr. Stark into his workshop and _ never _ let him out, “—and for the time being, there is only a handful of people who know he’s disappeared, mainly us four. Ross doesn’t know yet, but we’ll tell him soon, if we hear nothing in a couple of days. For now, only me and Vision are looking for him. The problem with Tony is that… even though he’s _ that _ kind of a guy, he usually doesn’t wanna make a hassle about himself. He wants to keep it in a small circle. With people he can trust.”

“The other problem is, on top of Tony’s infuriating, restricting instructions,” Ms. Pepper softly fingers the corner of the paper stack she has in front of her on the table, the only sign of her feeling something behind her business-like expression, “that we _ cannot _ possibly find him through available means. We’ve been trying— we’ve been trying ever since he disappeared, and we’ve found _ nothing. _ We simply lack the resources, and ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. went down… we don’t have _ enough _information on parties that might have done this. We are… understaffed. Especially since Tony is usually the one to dig up the needed data. He’d know what to do, but he is obviously,” her mouth twists into an unpleasant line, “...unavailable for now.”

Peter nods, feeling like an appropriate act for the moment is to hit his head against the table. 

So he does. Hard.

Silence follows the clonk that comes from his forehead meeting the glossy, black surface, and he can feel everyone’s eyes on him. His stomach churns almost painfully, and he swallows a couple of times before lifting his head up.

“Is there… anyone out there who could find him?” he asks. He looks straight at Ms. Pepper, whose eyes flicker over to Rhodey. She suddenly seems uncomfortable for some reason.

“No one,” she says curtly, and then stands up. “...I’m sorry, but I have to go. There is a meeting starting soon, and I’ll have to— I need some time to prepare myself. If anyone was to know about this, the stock would plummet and… that is one of the things Tony doesn’t want… He— what he _ wants _ me to do, is to protect the SI.”

Peter knows better than to try and stop her. She walks past Rhodey and they exchange a look; Rhodey raises an eyebrow, and Ms. Pepper presses her lips tightly together before turning her head towards Peter, and a soft smile takes over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Peter. But I’m glad you’re alright,” she says, and for a moment Peter wants to go and hug her, because he isn’t the only one who’s lost someone important, who’s worried for Mr. Stark… but he doesn’t, because Ms. Pepper is a busy woman, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s reached the door, her hand resting on the heavy handle.

She looks back at them briefly, and in the next moment she’s gone.

Peter turns to look at Rhodey with desperate eyes.

“There really isn’t anyone? Please, Rhodey—”

“No, no one,” Rhodey sighs, glancing at Vision. 

“But h-how can we _ find _ him then, we _ have _ to find him, we can’t just…” Peter’s voice breaks at the end of the sentence and he presses his hands over his eyes, tensing all over as he tries to hold back a sob.

“Pete… you gotta trust us,” Rhodey says, but there’s a quiver in his voice which immediately tells Peter that he is worried and scared, too.

Peter wants out of here. He needs to get back into the workshop, and he needs to _ find Mr. Stark. _

“Y-you should be doing _ m-m-more,” _ he finally cries, all the pain and fear bursting out of him in a short, broken sob. Before anyone has time to react, he dashes up into the vents of the conference room — easily available, since Mr. Hawkeye liked crawling in them, according to Mr. Stark — before Rhodey or Vision have time to say anything.

He sniffles in the vents, hugging his t-shirt while trying to get himself back together, and hears Vision speak, careful and hesitant.

_ “I… wouldn’t imagine it to be easy for him, since Mr. Stark was taken right in front of him.” _

He crawls away before hearing Rhodey’s response.

* * *

Two days later, Peter hasn’t had made any progress. He has barely slept and has only eaten what Dum-E and U have been bringing him: cranberry snacks from Mr. Stark’s hides, cold coffee that smells so weird Peter doesn’t even want to touch it, a half-eaten sandwich that Mr. Stark must have forgotten about. It’s been lonely in the workshop — he’s constantly waiting for the sound of Mr. Stark’s steps, of him commenting on Peter’s doings and then accidentally crashing into a table because he was too busy looking at the holograms. The bots and F.R.I.D.A.Y. are the only ones keeping him company, and while Rhodey visits several times a day, it’s still lonely.

Peter doesn’t really do well when he’s alone. He needs someone to bounce off from, and while F.R.I.D.A.Y. makes a fine companion for bantering, he really hasn’t been in the mood. Instead he’s buried himself into trying to find Mr. Stark, digging as deep into all available information on the bomb as possible, and there are a few conclusions he has come to:

  1. It was a carefully crafted explosion; so, someone who has enough knowledge and skill to do something like that. A big, shady organization is more likely than just a few bad guys
  2. It was never meant to kill Mr. Stark, only hurt him so that he could be taken easily
  3. They don’t know Peter is Spider-Man; otherwise he would’ve been taken as well, or at least killed more thoroughly
  4. Whoever took Mr. Stark is good enough to build a device that can disrupt the most advanced A.I. in the world
  5. It was _definitely_ a planned kidnapping
  6. And they’ve known about the ice cream meetings for a while, and about the route Mr. Stark and Peter always take back to the car
  7. Peter can’t do this alone

The final point is the reason he pulls himself out of the workshop and into the communal living area, and after consulting F.R.I.D.A.Y., proceeds to stumble straight into Vision who rounded the corner at the _ exact wrong time. _ And as if that isn’t the _ worst, _ instead of hitting the android’s chest, Peter just _ goes straight through. Holy shit. _

“Oh, no, M-Mr. Vision, s-s-sir,” Peter stutters, scrambling to the side with his face aflame, arms flailing around uncontrollably. “I was— F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me— y-y-you were, you were h-here—”

“It is quite alright,” Vision says, examining him with an intrigued expression. Peter pauses for a moment; if he didn’t know better, he’d say the android looks _ tired. _

“I-I-I,” Peter starts, waving his hands around in what he hopes is a helpful, explaining manner, “I’m s-sorry. You just, uh, were, you were _ closer _ to the corner than I, than I thought, um, s-sir.”

“Vision. Just... call me Vision,” Vision says, motions with his hand, and starts gliding towards the kitchen.

_ “Dude,” _ Peter whispers, because he can’t help it, Vision is so _ cool. _ Just _ gliding _ through the air?!?! That is so awesome. _ And Peter went straight through him, _ which is like, super embarrassing, but Ned is going to be _ green _ with jealousy.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me you wished to discuss the matter of Mr. Stark’s disappearance,” Vision says once they’re in the kitchen, and hey, that spaghetti Bolognese on the counter looks _ so _ good. Peter’s stomach grumbles and he is… he is _ so hungry. _

“Um, y-y-yeah,” he says, making a beeline for a banana. He aches for pizza and burgers, knows he could eat like a _ zillion _ of those, but Aunt May will kill him if he doesn’t eat at least one fruit during his stay at the Compound.

He chucks the banana down in one bite, then turns to look at Vision who is regarding him with his hands crossed over his chest, a somewhat gentle expression on his face. He nods towards the spaghetti.

“Go ahead, Mr. Parker,” he says, and Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He has a feeling Vision knew exactly what he was doing when he led them into the kitchen.

“Thanks, man. Er, android. Mandroid? Um, sir?”

Vision doesn’t say anything, only looks at the spaghetti pointedly. Fine. Peter can take a hint.

Ten minutes later, he has scarfed down all of the remaining Bolognese, and is nursing his third glass of orange juice. He feels nervous all of a sudden; Vision has been sitting silently, patiently following how Peter all but inhaled the food — which is terrible, Peter has _ never _ felt so conscious while eating — and now he looks like he wants to say something.

If it’s _ you should give up, _ Peter is going to throw the orange juice at him. He isn’t giving up until he gets to punch someone in the face.

(Violence isn’t his thing. Peter doesn’t punch people in the face, and Spider-Man only does it if he has to. He doesn’t really enjoy it, he much more enjoys webbing the baddies up, as it is more fun and requires more skill too, but now… Now Peter _ breathes _ the need to punch the bad guys. To do what he couldn’t when Mr. Stark was taken, not just lying on the ground. And the urge just grows and grows.)

“I assume it would be in vain… were I to attempt persuading you to stop,” Vision says, and Peter thinks it’s a rather eloquently put _ you should give up. _ Uh. Nu-uh. Nope nope.

“I’m not stopping,” he mumbles, lips resting against the edge of the glass. He contemplates whether he should throw it at Vision, but it would probably just go through. _ Which would be awesome. _ “I-I have to— I can’t just sit _ by.” _

“...Indeed.”

They sit in silence for a while, long enough for Peter to start feeling twitchy. He drinks the rest of the juice as slowly as he can, sloshing it inside his mouth to kill time. 

Finally he can’t take it anymore. He puts the glass down, glances around to make sure no one else is around, and nervously leans a bit towards Vision.

“But I was— I really— um. Mr. Vision, I… I can’t find him alone,” he feels his body deflate once the words leave his mouth. It’s frustrating, it’s humiliating — he should be able to do more. He should’ve been able to help Mr. Stark, and now he can’t even _ find _ him. The need to do it boils in his stomach, and he’s ready to go to whatever lengths it takes.

He already has something in mind. It feels terrible thinking of it, feels like he’s betraying Mr. Stark — but he doesn’t see any other way. Rhodey and Vision certainly haven’t been making any progress; and from what Rhodey has said, Peter is still the one to know the most.

Which is to say, _ nothing, _ in the end.

Peter is desperate. And needs help beyond what anyone in the Compound can give.

“The situation is worrying,” Vision says, his eyes drilling into Peter’s. “But... you seem to have something in mind.”

Peter hesitates, then nods. He fidgets with the glass.

“I-I was wondering… if really there’s no one that can find him.” It almost comes out as a whisper. Vision must… Vision _ must _ be able to help, because if he doesn’t, then Peter could as well be floating on a sinking air mattress in the middle of an ocean; nothing would really matter anymore, because this is his _ last _ hope.

Silence. Peter waits.

Vision’s eyes never leave him. Peter doesn’t really dare to stare back, but his gaze flickers between the orange juice and Vision, waiting with his shoulders drawn high from tension. He almost feels like there’s an iron wire strung tight inside him, pushing and pushing, forcing its way up into his throat and blocking his breath—

“F.R.I.D.A.Y…. can you shut down the surveillance for 30 seconds, if you will, please.”

_ “Passive threat scanning for kitchen activated. Resuming active surveillance in 30 seconds.” _

Peter can’t help it; he leans towards Vision, something starting to vibrate in his body. 

“You’re thinking of Ms. Romanoff,” Vision says quietly, and although Peter was waiting for it, he still almost topples off the bar stool he’s sitting on. _ Ms. Black Widow!!! _

Hell, yes, Peter was thinking about her, but it’s still _ shaking _ when Vision just _ says _her name casually.

Vision doesn’t wait for Peter’s confirmation and most likely reads the response from his wide-eyed expression.

“I have been in contact with her,” he says, and Peter’s eyes almost boggle out of his head. Oh _ man! _“Despite our… disagreements, we both care for Mr. Stark. She might have the means of finding him.”

Peter’s jaw clenches, and he straightens his back.

“Where is she?” he asks, trying to sound serious and business-like, and Vision almost smiles, which indicates Peter failed and sounded more like a girl. Again. It happens _ every damn time. _

“I’ll give you the coordinates. I don’t wish to burden you with a task such as this, but… Colonel and I are tied by legal means. And I fear they are not enough for finding Mr. Stark.”

“I’m… I’m not tied by the Accords,” Peter says, even though it’s obvious. Vision nods.

_ “Resuming active surveillance.” _

“Well, Mr. Parker,” Vision says and, er, gets up to his, um, floating feet? “I think it would do you good to… go outside the Compound for a change. There are people who miss you.”

Peter’s phone lets out a ping, and he glances down at it.

Ice cream. You know where.

“...Y-yeah,” he swallows, nerves starting to climb up his spine. Oh God, it is happening. It is really happening! Oh God!! The Black Widow has his phone number!!!

“It might be better if you stayed away for some time,” Vision’s expression stays neutral. Peter is impressed by how _ sly _ the android can be. “I’d suggest you pack up your belongings. Of course, when Mr. Stark returns, you are more than welcome to do so as well.”

_ Get your suit. Pack for a possibly long mission. Return with Mr. Stark in tow. _

Okay. Okay, Peter _ can _ do it. He’s more than ready. He was _ born _ ready.

He dashes into the workshop, bouncing from corner to corner as he collects whatever could be useful. He gathers up his suit from one of the worktables where he’s been working on the mask, and grabs the webshooters, snapping them onto his wrists. Dum-E beeps helpfully and waves Peter’s jacket in the air very unhelpfully, and it takes Peter a minute to convince the bot that it would be _ so _ nice to let go of the jacket, Dum-E is _ such _ a good robot and a great helper, but you know what would help more? _ Letting go of the jacket. _

Eventually Dum-E gets it, and with the jacket safely on his shoulders, Peter turns to the computer screens. He quickly downloads all the information he’s managed to gather — F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s strange, distorted log, surveillance camera data (for whatever it’s worth), everything the police has gathered on the bomb, GPS and cellular network logs — on one of Mr. Stark’s secured USB sticks, and as a final touch he asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. to delete the search history.

Peter wasn’t born yesterday. If Spider-Man doesn’t delete his search history, then _ who _ would?

“Peter? Are you leaving?”

Peter jumps into the ceiling. And looks down at Ms. Pepper. Again.

“God, this is embarrassing,” he mutters and drops back to the floor, not missing the small, amused quirk in the corner of Ms. Pepper’s mouth.

“U-um, yeah,” he says, fidgets a little with the sleeve of his jacket. He really should stop doing that; he’ll destroy all of his sleeves before Mr. Stark gets back.

_ ’Maybe he’ll buy me a new jacket, to compensate all the mental damage,’ _ passes by his mind, and he shakes himself. He doesn’t want Mr. Stark’s charity, even though he is _ well _ aware by now that that won’t stop the man.

(It is also possible that Mr. Stark is never coming back, and Peter will spend the rest of his life with torn sleeves. But he can’t afford that thought, can’t think of it, so he doesn’t.)

“Going back home?” Ms. Pepper asks with a gentle smile that has taken over her lips while Peter was mulling over his sleeves. Oh no, he’s going to— he’s going to have to _ lie _ to Ms. Pepper.

When he gets caught (because he _ will) _ he’s not going to be killed by May only, but Ms. Pepper as well. Possibly also Rhodey. And _ definitely _ by Mr. Stark, because he _ wouldn’t _ support Peter’s mad plans of teaming up with _ Ms. Black Widow. _

“Y-yes, um, a-actually, I was, uh. I can’t… I-I don’t think I can find Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice lowers into a whisper and he represses a shudder. He knows he is not giving up before he _ does _ find the man, but… there is a small chance his words might be true.

He knows the adults think he wouldn’t have had a chance anyway and have only supported his crazy search out of kindness, not having the heart to tell him that _ Peter, you won’t find him. We knew it from the start. _

But he has hope now. He is going to work with the Black Widow herself. If there’s someone who can find Mr. Stark, it’s her for sure. Peter just has to _ trust _in it.

“B-but,” he continues before Ms. Pepper has time to say anything, her expression having become sad and… pitiful. Peter hates that look. Ms. Pepper shouldn’t look like that. “I thought… I’m… We, uh, always went to the ice cream parlor around this time of the week. S-so I thought… can’t let the tradition die, can I?”

He lowers his gaze, but not before he can feel tears burning his eyes. The words taste foul in his mouth; on one hand, he is only going there for a meeting. On the other… it is the absolute truth.

Ms. Pepper looks at him, and her eyes seem to shine a bit brighter as she takes in Peter’s appearance.

“I’ll call Happy to ride you there,” she says softly after a small moment where Peter tries to subtly pull himself back together, and suspects she does too, in fact.

“Thank you, Ms. Pepper,” he tries for a smile. It’s wobbly. “That’d be nice… And, uh, I’ll be staying with Ned for a couple of days.” _ That _ lie gives him more time to get away from Ms. Pepper’s (and Aunt May’s) rage zone when they find out what he’s done. And knowing the two of them, Peter doesn’t stand a chance of surviving _ that _blast if he’s anywhere in the state. “I-I think it’ll give me a chance to…” he waves his hand around vaguely, “...process all this.”

“Of course,” Ms. Pepper nods, looking sympathetic. Peter feels bad for deceiving her like this, but if he told about his plans… Man, he wouldn’t live long enough for Mr. Stark to see him again.

_ Although what difference does it make, since he already thinks you’re dead? _

Peter nods vigorously, goes on to grab the rest of his stuff, and focuses on the goal.

He has no clue how to get there, but he knows he’s not giving up until Mr. Stark is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the fic is written, the word count nearing 70k, so updating will be as regular as I can possibly make it with my busy uni life. So far the story is up to 6 chapters, all of them about 10k long - so it's quite a ride ahead! 
> 
> Comments are _more_ than appreciated, and I'd LOVE to hear what you think. I've been very insecure over this, since it's my first time working with these characters, so feedback is absolutely LOVED AND CHERISHED.
> 
> come shout at me on my [tumblr](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com/)!


	2. How To Ensure Eventual Death In Mr. Stark’s Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing feedback in the last chapter! I really hope you'll like this one too. Now we have the gang joining in - good old Steeb. never change. we love u
> 
> Forever thanks to [Daisy](https://thefrogchorus.tumblr.com/), my wonderful beta, and Kaisa, who gives invaluable feedback and lovingly tells me which parts SUCK. ilysm

Having donned the Spider-Man mask after Happy’s departure (the man had been uncharacteristically friendly during the whole ride, which was nice), Peter finds himself a nice spot on the roof above the ice cream parlor, watching carefully over the road. It’s a single-story building and he’s in plain view, but nobody in Queens really bothers with him anymore, except for the occasional wave. Peter waves back, but otherwise stays where he is, legs hanging over the edge of the building, restlessly kicking against the sign of the parlor.

He could still see the place of the explosion from up here, and upon arriving asked Karen to analyze the scene. Frustratingly, she couldn’t find any new information. Peter hadn’t been expecting any either.

Peter thanks the fact that the explosion happened in the outer boroughs of the city — if it had been Manhattan, the toll of the bomb would have been higher. As it is, there were no deaths, and only three people were hospitalized (aside from Peter, but Peter doesn’t count). Property damage is another thing completely, since a couple of cars were apparently ruined, and there is a gaping hole in the middle of the junction, but… there’s nothing that can’t be taken care of.

The real, heaviest toll of the explosion was losing Mr. Stark.

“Hey Karen,” he says in a dull voice, eyes idly sliding over the street. “The bad guys gotta have a phone number, right?”

_ “Statistically speaking, yes,”  _ Karen says softly. There is amusement there, and Peter feels a pang of loss at the thought of Mr. Stark taking the care to program her to sound like that. 

“And if we found it, would reciting  _ ‘Taken’ _ work?”

_ “I’m sure you could make it sound menacing enough. Do give it your best shot.” _

_“’I don’t know who you are’,” _Peter starts dramatically. _“’I don’t know what you want’ — _no, actually, they want— _no,_ in fact, we don’t _know_ what they want with Mr. Stark— _‘If you’re looking for ransom, I can tell you I don’t have money’ — _and hey, I don’t even have to _lie —_ _‘but I have a very particular set of skills’—”_

“—Skills I have acquired over a  _ very  _ long career.”

Peter jumps and whips around, landing into a fighting stance.

The Black Widow, standing behind him on the roof like she’s been there all along, pulls her sunglasses down a notch to reveal her eyes and smiles in a way that  _ definitely _ doesn’t have Peter’s body shudder violently and very visibly. Wow.  _ Embarrassing. _ Also, since when does she have blond hair? Weird.

“Hello, Peter,” she says, and Peter splutters.

“Um, excuse me,” he waves a hand in front of his masked face. “Mask on, secret identities, all that jazz? And when’d  _ you _ learn that— that legendary quote that, okay, fits you perfectly, um, Ms. Black Widow, ma’am?”

“I’ve known who you are since Berlin,” Ms. Black Widow says simply, and Peter blinks. Right. Right, of  _ course _ she has.

“You can call me Natasha,” she continues, and motions with her hand for Peter to follow. “Vision filled me in. You want ice cream?”

Ms. Black Widow, the Actual Natasha Romanoff, is offering him an ice cream. Oh God.

He shakes his head.

“Sorry, Miss, er, Rom— Wid— N-Nat-Natasha. But I don’t think I could stomach it right now.”

Her mouth quirks into a small smile that at least  _ seems _ understanding, and she nods.

“Fair enough.”

Then she jumps off the roof, and somehow it all looks discreet and beautiful. Wow. Peter is just a flailing bunch of limbs compared to her.

(Is he developing a sudden and unfortunate crush on the Black Widow? Out of all his life decisions this must be the worst. But she’s so pretty. And deadly. And  _ scary. _ Ned is totally going to combust from jealousy.)

By the time Peter makes it to the edge of the roof, she is already standing on the street, leaning on the wall of the building casually, looking for all the world like she’s been doing it for hours.

Oh God. Peter is a little bit in love.

_ “Peter, judging by the sudden amount of dopamine in your body, I feel it’s my responsibility to remind you that workplace romances in the superhero business don’t often work out,” _ Karen chirps into his ear,  _ “and I think Mr. Stark wouldn’t like it much either.” _

“He would disown me,” Peter mutters, and then carefully climbs down, fortunately not attracting much attention. “Hey, Ms. Bla— N...nh-Natasha?”

Ms. Romanoff (he definitely isn’t comfortable calling her  _ Natasha _ in his head yet) turns one lifted eyebrow in his direction, and Peter promptly forgets whatever he was meant to say.

The corner of her mouth twitches into what could be a smile, but it is quickly replaced by a serious expression. Okay, right, they’re on a mission. Peter doesn’t have time to be besotted with the Black Widow.

(He hasn’t forgotten about the mission. But it’s easier to redirect his thoughts elsewhere, because thinking about Mr. Stark just  _ hurts.) _

“What have you got?” Ms. Romanoff asks and starts walking briskly down the road. Peter pulls up the hoodie of his jacket, wishing that the Spider-Man suit was less noticeable. People are throwing him curious looks, and now that he’s on the move some are pointing his way, and ugh, Peter should’ve just taken off the mask… but then his secret identity would be secret no more to the Black Widow…

...Who already knows his name, okay, and probably everything from his grades to the embarrassing birthmark he has on his left butt cheek, right, whatever… It’s a question of principle!!

“I— um, all the CCTV footage from a few days prior, which doesn’t really help at all, and the bomb readings from the police, and F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s weird log, and, uh, n-not much. It’s not much.” He fidgets with the hem of his jacket.  _ Dammit. _ It’s becoming a bad habit. He should’ve just packed the spinner.

Ms. Romanoff makes a small hum which says  _ nothing _ to Peter on whether he’s been of any use at all during these past days, but before he manages to dwell on the thought, she crooks a finger and swiftly disappears between two apartment houses. It’s obscured enough that people passing on the street wouldn’t notice anything sneaky going on.

“Change your clothes,” Ms. Romanoff says. “You won’t get far in the suit.”

They’re on private property and in  _ theory _ someone could be looking out their windows just now, but… more’s the haste? Peter scrambles to pull his jeans over the suit, and the spider in his chest is hidden by zipping up his jacket. After a moment’s hesitation he pulls off the mask and turns around to meet Ms. Romanoff’s steady, indifferent expression. She has taken off her glasses.

Peter can’t help but think that her eyes in real life are even more terrifyingly beautiful than in all the posters Peter  _ definitely does not own. _ He almost  _ feels _ all the information about his life being sucked out and into her mind. By mere eye contact. Oh wow.  _ Scary. _

“Um. H-h-hi,” he waves a hand awkwardly. “S-so, I’m Peter. Parker. Um. But you knew that already. Uh, so.”

She smiles. It makes her look twice as deadly. Oh no, Mr. Stark is  _ so _ gonna disown Peter. And May will probably do that too. And then Ned will kill him from outright jealousy. Wow. That is so awesome.

“Hello, Peter,” she says. “Now, come on. We have a jet to catch.”

“A  _ jet?” _

“Yes,” Ms. Romanoff lets out a sigh, her hands pressing on her hips. She casts her eyes down briefly before returning her gaze on Peter, as unreadable as before. “I don’t exactly have the means of finding him alone. From what I know, everything points towards an organization like HYDRA. And we two are not enough for a rescue mission of that scale.”

She pauses, and something flickers in her expression. Something negative, but Peter can’t put his finger to it.

“Not that Tony would necessarily need our help — He’s quite adept on his own. However… I know for a fact HYDRA has been building bombs with the same signature as the one used here. And if it’s HYDRA we’re dealing with… we’ll need more specialized help. Even I can’t infiltrate a HYDRA base securely on my own. But I want to be sure it’s HYDRA before focusing our search efforts to their bases.”

Peter doesn’t want to think what  _ the  _ Black Widow might mean with  _ specialized _ help.

Ms. Romanoff flicks her sunglasses back on, and they leave the narrow space between the houses. Ms. Romanoff leads them to a white van that — despite Peter  _ knowing _ it’s a different vehicle than the one that took Mr. Stark away — makes him shudder. Without words Ms. Romanoff starts up the motor and they’re off, heading out of the state, towards Connecticut.

They sit in silence for a long time, and then Peter can’t take it anymore; he  _ needs _ to know.

“Um, Ms. Roman— uh, Natasha? What kinda specialized help are we talking about here? Super-secret-spy-kind of help? Are they other spies? Some biochemically altered mutants? Oh God, are they ninjas?  _ Ninja turtles?? _ I don’t think I can take it if there are nin—”

“There are no ninjas, and only one turtle,” Ms. Romanoff — okay, to hell with it,  _ Natasha  _ — says calmly, keeping a careful eye on the windshield. She took her sunglasses off once they were out of the city. “I’m not telling you yet — I want to be sure we’re on safe ground. You’re not bugged by any chance, are you?” she throws an arched eyebrow in his direction. Peter shakes his head vigorously, so hard that his head rattles.

“No, no, I’m not, I mean, I  _ am, _ because Mr. Stark has probably bugged my  _ kidneys  _ at some point while digging a, um, bullet out of them? That happens sometimes? So yeah, I’m  _ totally  _ bugged, all the way from my toes to like,  _ every  _ sandwich he’s ever fed me, but only Mr. Stark knows about it, and it’s only so that he can find me if something bad happens—” he hurries the words out of his mouth,  _ just _ in case Ms. Rom— Natasha is about to kick him through the window. “—And now, uh, he… he won’t be…”

And just like that, all words seem to die in his throat, something painful (simple, but unbelievably strong  _ longing) _ clogging up his mouth, the feeling of bile coming back like it never left.

“...He… h-he’s not around to…” To his horror, he chokes, and rapidly turns to stare out of the window while trying to keep himself from bursting into tears.

Maybe it is the culmination of days and days spent thinking about Mr. Stark — about  _ Tony, _ without any change in the situation, with Peter feeling guilty and desperate and scared and utterly  _ useless. _

Maybe it’s because he honestly just misses Mr. Stark. 

It’s super embarrassing all the same — almost crying in front of THE Black Widow.

Peter wipes his eyes discreetly, knowing Natasha is probably 100% aware of it, and silence takes over the van for a small while.

Then Peter sees from the corner of his eye how Natasha tilts her head towards him in what he believes is a sympathetic gesture. Her next words come out softly, but she sounds intrigued anyway. Maybe that’s just her general way of speaking — always needing to know everything about the people around her.

“You care about him a lot.”

Peter makes a vague sound, starting to fidget with his sleeves again. Mr. Stark is going to be making jabs about the fidget spinner for years after this.

“I… Of course I do,” he says after a moment of silence. “He’s… he’s very important. I mean,” his mouth lets out a choked, short chuckle, “I would’ve  _ literally  _ died a million times without him— er, without the suit he made. Literally.  _ So  _ many times.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, and just keeps staring at the road. It’s a bit unnerving.

Peter somehow feels pressured to continue anyway.

“And like, he gives the best advice? H-he, he tries to make it look like it’s nothing, or like, that he isn’t noble or anything, but he always finds the most ethical way of dealing with— with the bad guys, and he doesn’t want to  _ acknowledge  _ it, but he’s— he’s my hero? And, a-and I really like it when he lets me help in the workshop. He actually got me a real internship, which is  _ insane, _ and I’ve learned so much from him, he’s unbelievable, literally the  _ coolest, _ dude, you wouldn’t  _ believe—” _

“And does he share the sentiment?” Natasha interrupts him, sounding a bit… puzzled. She glances at Peter, a soft frown itched between her perfect eyebrows.

“I-I-I,” Peter stutters, and clamps his mouth shut.

The silence stretches, and Peter almost manages to completely destroy the hem of the sleeve before Natasha speaks again.

“He’s never let anyone help him before. He might let people into the workshop, but as far as I know, no one’s been allowed to really  _ help _ him. Apart from Bruce, that is.”

“I  _ love _ Dr. Banner—”

“What I’m saying,” Natasha doesn’t seem fazed by Peter’s sudden, unstoppable confession that just  _ burst _ out, “is that he seems to care exceptionally much about you. It interests me. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, see what it’s all about.”

“Oh, I, um,” Peter says, completely coming to the end of his rope. He…

He knows that Mr. Stark cares. Of course the man does. But just to what extent?  _ Peter is expendable.  _ Mr. Stark  _ can _ just tell him to never come back.

Peter just doesn’t want to have too high hopes of… meaning something to his mentor, in case it isn’t so, and he’s just a fun little side project. They’ve never really discussed any of it, because hello, they’re both absolutely terrible at putting their feelings into words, Peter flails and ends up saying a lot about nothing, and Mr. Stark deflects emotional talk with jokes, and so… Peter doesn’t really know.

He does know how important Mr. Stark is to  _ him. _

“I— I don’t know if I’m that important to him,” he says, and tears a piece off of his sleeve. The van rumbles under them, and Peter can taste road dust in his mouth. His voice fades away by the time he finishes the next sentence. “B-b-but he’s… he’s very, uh, important to me.”

Natasha stays quiet, and somehow the silence manages to be consoling.

Eventually Peter dozes off; he hasn’t been able to sleep very well, not in the aftermath of what happened, and he dreams of the ice cream parlor, Mr. Stark sitting in the booth opposite to him as always. 

_ “Hey Mr. Stark,” _ dream Peter says.  _ “What if, and this is just hypothetical, I, uh, told you you’re kinda my dad? Dad-ish? Dad-person? Pseudo-dad?” _

_ “Hmm,”  _ dream Mr. Stark hums, biting into his ice cream and speaking through the mouthful.  _ “That would make the bots your older brothers. You sure you want to be related to Dum-E?” _

Then the parlor explodes.

Peter jerks awake, momentarily disoriented with his surroundings. The van is still rumbling under him, and he blinks at the world having gone dark. Peter can’t see a thing — they must be in the middle of nowhere.

Right. Van. Rescue mission.  _ The Black Widow!!!! _ Holy  _ smokes. _

“Sleep well?” Natasha’s voice reaches his ears as if on cue, and Peter flips his head around. Oh God. Was he drooling? Did he snore?  _ Snore in the Black Widow’s presence—  _

“Uh.” His mouth hangs open stupidly for a moment. He can’t exactly remember what the dream was, only that it had  _ something _ to do with Mr. Stark. And maybe his unholy habit of biting into ice cream?

“Did you know Mr. Stark bites into ice cream?” he asks before he can think (a bad habit of his, but somehow at least Mr. Stark seems to find it endearing. And May loves him too).

Ms. Rom—  _ Natasha, dammit, _ looks surprised for a moment.

“He  _ does?” _ Her tone hasn’t changed, and there’s no emotion in her voice, but Peter thinks the intonation on the last word is Black Widow language for a shriek.

“I’m not judging him—” Peter starts quickly, lest Natasha think Peter would think badly of Mr. Stark, which he definitely doesn’t, “but I mean, I’m not questioning it either, but it’s a bit  _ weird, _ since the ice cream tends to melt, and he won’t  _ lick _ it, and it always ends up dripping on his knuckles, and it’s super disturbing that he’d rather clean his hands than lick at the ice cream — I swear I’m not trying to, uh, say that it isn’t the right way, because it’s  _ Mr. Stark _ — I’m just, I’m just wondering if  _ I _ should start doing that as well, since he’s doing it, and it’s  _ him, _ so it must mean the rest of the world is  _ wrong, _ because Mr. St—”

“Stark bites into ice cream,” Natasha mutters, turning the wheel abruptly without flicking on the blinker. The van steers from the dark, shady road to a darker, shadier one. Peter squints at the darkness; it doesn’t work. He still can’t see further than what the van’s headlights show. “...There used to be a saying among us; that is, never do what Stark would.”

“Uh. That’s a bit like what he told me.”

Natasha throws another almost-surprised eyebrow at him. Peter is fascinated by the lack of expressions on her face. God, what he would give to be a  _ bit  _ more like that, instead of being real proof of an emotional human disaster.

“Yeah, he— he told me not to do anything he wouldn’t do, but nothing he would do. It’s… uh, there’s a thin, gray area where I operate,” Peter explains helpfully.

Natasha is not impressed.

“And have you stayed in that area?”

Peter has a very forceful flashback of crashing a plane into Coney Island.

“Yeeaah.” His voice cracks a little. “Mmmostly..?”

Peter’s quite sure crashing the plane is something Mr. Stark  _ would _ do. But there would be a few more explosions included. The man is incorrigible with them.

_ As he was with the latest one, too,  _ Peter can’t help but think, and falls into a glum silence.

Natasha doesn’t break it, not until the van slows down and she parks it at the side of the road. 

“Come on,” she says, voice back to all business. “We’re being waited on.”

“By  _ whom?” _ Peter hops out of the van, checking their surroundings.

It’s dark. He can’t see a thing. Boo.

Except, wait, what is that? A big blob in the darkness? A big, dark blob? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s— 

It  _ is _ a plane!!

Natasha strolls towards it, punching a series of codes into a number pad and then pressing her thumb against it when the security prompts for fingerprint recognition. The back of the plane opens up with a hiss, and Peter blinks.

It’s a real, actual  _ Quinjet.  _ As he wanders in at Natasha’s heels, Peter can recognize it as a slightly older model than those that inhabit the Compound’s yard. Mr. Stark has had him work on the aerial speed indicators of the Quinjets, (“They don’t really need any working, but it’s good practice, so hit it, kid.”) and Peter has spent hours sprawled over blueprints, and as such can say with certainty that this model is at least four years old.  _ Ancient. _ Peter was  _ 12 _ when this plane was built.

Natasha gets into the cockpit and presses her palm against a screen Peter recognizes as an identification panel.

_ “Voice activation required,”  _ a disembodied female voice says, and Peter turns idly to close the door of the jet. He hears Natasha say “the Black Widow” and the woman in the speakers pleasantly welcomes her.

Peter remembers a conversation with Mr. Stark, where he inquired about the string of code that had curious names, and among them only “the Black Widow” had been recognizable.

_ “Oh, it’s just,”  _ Mr. Stark waved his hand around, not even lifting his head from the Iron Man boot he was fixing,  _ “a— a thing, uh, I gave everyone a nickname for when they use a Quinjet.” _

_ “Why isn’t there one for the Black Widow?” _

Mr. Stark paused, something that feebly resembled longing and nostalgia washing over his face.

_ “If I’d tried to put in anything else, I would’ve quite probably died right there and then,” _ he said casually.  _ “But I would’ve  _ ** _loved_ ** _ to have her say ’Latrodectus mactans’ three times fast every time she wanted to use a plane.” _

“Uh, Ms. R— Natasha,” Peter starts when Natasha sits down into the pilot’s seat, flicking on a couple of switches without even looking at them, so comfortable in her surroundings. Peter’s crush on her suddenly doubles.  _ Get you a girl who can fly a badass jet. _ “Where’d you get a Quinjet?”

Natasha throws a grin at him over her shoulder, and Peter’s legs turn into jelly, just as there is a beep and a deep male voice bursts out of the speakers— 

_ “Nat? Do you copy?” _

Peter’s jaw drops; his eyes widen.

Oh God. Oh  _ God. _

_ Specialized help. _

“Yes,” Natasha doesn’t take her eyes off Peter, looking sly and satisfied with his shock. Oh God. Peter needs to sit down. “You found a place? I need your coordinates.”

Mr. Stark is going to  _ kill  _ him.

_ “I sent them over. What exactly is going on?” _

“You know what,” Natasha looks somber then, the first flash of a real feeling sweeping over her face — it’s… worry? Could it be that she’s actually worried for Mr. Stark? But Peter is too busy reeling to pay real attention to her expressions. He falls into the nearest seat at the same time the jet engine roars into life. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

_ “Right. ETA?” _

“...Two hours. Might want to have a snack pile waiting.”

There’s a low, warm chuckle. Peter tries very hard not to start hyperventilating. Oh  _ God. _

_ “I’ll see to it. Any changes to ETA, let me know.” _

“Will do. See you, Steve.”

The connection cuts off with a beep, and Natasha raises an eyebrow at Peter, who is slowly dissolving into a puddle of  _ Mr. Stark is going to kill me. _

“So, Peter. Dinner ahead.” She smirks, and Peter whimpers through his shock. 

The jet rises up above the trees, and takes off towards the North.

Natasha explains it on the way. She tells that alone she wouldn’t be able to find Mr. Stark, not with the lack of trails, and since she suspects it was HYDRA’s work (...Peter wants to punch them Nazis in the face, and you  _ can  _ quote him on  _ that) _ no one would be better at helping than “Steve and his lot”.

Steve, aka Steve Rogers, aka  _ Captain America, _ who once punched Peter in the face, and it was  _ awesome. _

Being killed by Mr. Stark is not so awesome, though, and as such Peter holds a certain wariness over the aspect of working with the Actual Captain America. Who’s a war criminal. Who made super annoying PSAs that everybody hates. Whom Mr. Stark would most likely prefer to yeet far, far away from him, and since Peter is loyal to him, he should be doing the same. 

(The Actual Captain America!!!)

Apparently, the Captain and his lot have been discreetly swiping HYDRA bases for the past year, and thus are the best when it comes to infiltrating one for a rescue mission. They can also help in looking into the bomb signatures to make  _ sure  _ it’s HYDRA that took Mr. Stark, and even if it wasn’t those particular bad guys, they’ll be a great help in both identifying and defeating the culprits.

Natasha, for her part, usually hangs out with them, sometimes parting on her own stealth missions to gather more intelligence on HYDRA. That is when she takes the Quinjet, leaving the Captain and his lot to their own devices. Now, she explains, she was contacted by Vision immediately after the explosion, asking her to remain discreet, and she told the Captain to find a good place for them to camp in for a couple of weeks before she parted for New York with the jet, trying to look into Mr. Stark’s kidnapping by herself — with just as much success as Peter had. Upon leaving the Captain she didn’t know where exactly they’d meet up, but now it sounds like he has found a safe place where they won’t be bothered, no matter what they get up to.

They’re outlaws now, Natasha says, and as such following certain legal guidelines isn’t a necessity. And as such they have the best chances of finding Mr. Stark.

Peter is quite sure laws aren’t meant to be interpreted as  _ guidelines.  _ Then again, he’s an underage unregistered superhero swinging around Queens in spandex and high-fiving people on a daily basis, so…

There’s something twisting in his stomach; it’s uncertainty over the whole thing. He’s pretty sure he’s going to freak out when planted in front of Captain America and… his lot (he isn’t sure who this “lot” is, but he’ll find out in an hour. Oh God), but that isn’t too big of a worry.

Much worse is his fear for Mr. Stark.

“N-Natasha?” he asks carefully, hating how he sounds like a child. Natasha twists her body in the pilot’s seat so that she’s looking at Peter, smiling at him invitingly. The expression already seems warmer than what it was upon them first meeting. (Peter’s heart flutters at that. Oh no, he’s so gone.)

“Mmh?”

“I… I just—” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, not having donned the mask on yet. It hangs from his fingers, ready to be pulled on the moment they land, and he shudders involuntarily. There are reasons why he wouldn’t have gone to Captain America for help. And all of those reasons are now running through his head.

He decides to choose the one that worries him the most.

“Y-you… Can we be sure he wants to help? Once he hears— once he knows it’s T— Mr. Stark?”

He looks up helplessly, and Natasha’s lips press together. A flash of emotion passes over her face, and Peter holds onto his mask tighter.

“Steve and Tony, there’s… there’s a lot to unpack in the relationship of those two,” Natasha finally says with a little sigh. “But despite the situation, despite of where we are now... I’m sure they’d both do anything to help each other.”

“Can you be  _ sure?” _ Peter asks, his voice frail.

“I wouldn’t have involved him if I wasn’t.” is Natasha’s reply, and Peter falls into silence, feeling like he couldn’t get out any more words even if he wanted to.

He just has to trust that at least some part of Steve Rogers is still willing to help Mr. Stark.

* * *

Peter’s  _ biggest _ problem with Captain America is probably his disastrously huge hero worship. He’s a fan. A  _ fanatic. Absolutely _ star-eyed. The hero worship is humongous and has persistently stayed without budging even a little bit, despite everything that happened with the Captain. It’s rooted so deep into his bones that even the thought of  _ seeing _ Captain America (!!!!!) makes his brain short-circuit. He’s been a fan of all the Avengers for as long as they’ve been around, Mr. Stark being just the shiny top of a no-less shiny superhero pyramid. Peter has respect for all of them, even after the recent happenings, and he’ll be honored and just plain  _ shook _ to work with them, and… especially with the Captain.

His hero worship wouldn’t be a problem, were the circumstances any different. As it happens, Peter is planted firmly by Mr. Stark’s side, and while he  _ is  _ a whole individual with his  _ own, _ unique thoughts, he tends to agree with everything the man says. Maybe it’s because his worship for Mr. Stark simply goes through the roof, aided by genuine affection and respect for the man behind the public persona. Peter is ready to do anything for Mr. Stark (which is very well proved by this  _ craaazy _ rescue mission), and whatever respect he has for Captain America… it is easily topped by his adoration towards Mr. Stark.

Which  _ wouldn’t _ be a problem per se, Peter can have several role models, he wouldn’t have to aim all of his worship towards one person, but… usually Mr. Stark really,  _ really _ doesn’t want to be reminded that Steve Rogers exists.

And  _ that _ is the problem.

It took some time for Mr. Stark to open up about the whole Accords debate, but Peter is naturally curious and has somehow figured out how to disarm most of Mr. Stark’s ridiculously strong defenses. He just needs to be… himself, and Mr. Stark… just… might start talking, if Peter manages to put out the right question that somehow leads them to a subject that requires background information about the Avengers. 

So, after Peter had decided that learning about the Accords was  _ exactly _ what he wanted to do, he just needed to carefully enquire about them for long enough, and eventually Mr. Stark started talking. 

And let Peter into the  _ mess. _

Peter himself doesn’t want to sign them, but that has more to do with his need of staying an anonymous superhero than anything else. He thinks it’s good that groups like the Avengers that are capable of grand-scale destruction would be held accountable for their actions, but the Accords seem a bit too strict. Mr. Stark says so too, agrees with every opinion Peter has — and he’s constantly working on amendments, adding improvements and editing the already existing clauses. 

He told Peter he signed the Accords because the group  _ needed  _ to be put on check, despite what  _ Steve _ thought (and that was the first time he mentioned the man after Peter had started coming to his workshop). The Accords had the right  _ thought _ behind them, but since they were mostly designed by General Ross, who in principle is a  _ “right ass— ass… assaultive idiot?”, _ they were restricting and downright abusive on some terms. 

_ “Ross is the kind of man who — pass me the screwdri— yeah, thanks — who only cares about his own agenda. He swears by the dear motherland, but it’s twisted and — where’s the — thanks — twisted. In a way he thinks that when it comes to protecting the country, anything’s allowed. At the same time he was  _ ** _really_ ** _ pissed that we weren’t under  _ ** _his_ ** _ line of command. My biggest grievance with the Accords as they are now — I know the thought is good, I agree with it, but right now they work more towards making us —  _ ** _me_ ** _ — his personal pawns, and — no, Dum-E, I don’t want a smooth— Jesus Christ FUCK!! Uh, I mean, our beloved lord and savior, er, fudge, um..? Kid, you see a towel anywh— oh, thanks. I swear to God, I’d turn Dum-E into a Roomba if I wasn’t afraid of the consequences…” _

Mr. Stark had known that fighting from the outside would be fruitless, especially against someone like the Secretary.  _ “One hand on the wheel, kid.”  _ And the Captain… the Captain hadn’t liked the thought at all.

Then there was the whole thing with Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes from  _ the Howling Commandos, _ whom Peter idolized as a kid as well (because honestly? The  _ only _ thing bigger than his need for admiring amazing people is his receptivity for trouble). Mr. Stark has never told  _ everything  _ — there are obviously pieces missing in what had gone down in Siberia. But Peter has learned enough, and by enough he means, enough to be somewhat wary of Captain America and his actions towards Mr. Stark.

Mainly along the lines of… whether he’ll actually agree to help or not. If they parted their ways as enemies, as ridiculous as it sounds like, because it’s the  _ Avengers, _ they can’t be enemies with each other — but if it happened, if there’s bad blood between them, as the case seems to be from the way Mr. Stark acts…

The Captain once also dropped like a  _ suuuper  _ heavy container on top of Peter without hesitation, which is totally okay, Peter was completely fine, doesn’t hold a grudge whatsoever, but Mr. Stark seemed to have a problem with it upon Peter mentioning such an event having taken place (while discussing Peter’s limits in weight-lifting, which are evidently something like,  _ “...can lift a building?”,  _ which is  _ awesome).  _ According to Mr. Stark that was “typical Steve-ish unthinkiness”, which one sure wouldn’t expect from Captain America, but which occasionally would happen because apparently the Captain is a “stubborn bull who sometimes can’t see further than his own fucki— ferry nose.” Mr. Stark was also beyond himself with rage, since  _ “one doesn’t drop heavy  _ ** _containers_ ** _ on top of  _ ** _children_ ** _ —  _ ** _neat_ ** _ score, Rogers—!” _

Peter feels conflicted in his hero worship. He knows heroes have flaws — hell, Mr. Stark claims to be one whole flaw entirely — but that doesn’t stop him from lathering the people he respects with his adoration and trust. With Captain America that trust has somewhat swayed.

Once Peter would’ve believed the man to bring Mr. Stark home safe and sound, but now... He feels obliged to be cautious. 

…And he  _ can’t _ really trust that the Captain would do anything to help Mr. Stark, can he? At least not everything  _ Peter  _ is ready to do. 

_ And  _ he trusts the Captain’s “lot” even less, despite not knowing who they are. 

He trusts Natasha, though. He knows it’s a bit of a controversial situation, one where he believes the Black Widow’s honesty over Captain America’s, but so far Natasha has been nothing but willing to help. She has shown empathy — maybe not as plainly as other people would, but she isn’t a machine by no means, like some think — and she seems to genuinely care for Mr. Stark. Now that Peter has been watching her, he can see that she is worried.

Maybe, if he sees a similar expression on Captain America’s face, he’ll stop minding all the negative thoughts that flicker through his head like a high-speed train. Maybe.

But really,  _ personally _ he doesn’t have anything against the Captain! No matter what’s happened recently, the man is still a hero. Being an outlaw right now doesn’t diminish the glory of his past actions, and Peter is… Peter  _ is _ excited to meet him. And terrified. Because Mr. Stark is the one with a grudge against the Captain, and Peter will most likely  _ die _ after all this is over. God, between Mr. Stark, Ms. Pepper and Aunt May all rushing in to take his life, Peter is lucky if he  _ just _ dies.

_ But  _ talking about the Captain and Peter’s ridiculous hero obsession— Peter is quite sure he is going to  _ reel _ upon meeting him. The last time had been awesome enough — who gets to say they’ve been punched by Captain America??  _ Peter does. _ And the Captain had  _ praised him. _

_ “You got heart, kid.” _

It’s ridiculous how the memory of the Captain’s amused, slightly crooked smile and the honest words accompanying that expression makes Peter feel warm and giddy even now, but that… that is how much he really, really respects the man, deep down. Oh God, Peter is  _ totally  _ going to fangirl, and nothing is going to stop him, because Mr. Stark isn’t there, so he doesn’t have to pretend to be super angry and like he doesn’t care about the Captain at all— 

(The thought hurts, because Mr. Stark  _ isn’t _ there. But he’s getting used to the feeling. That gnawing, empty feeling in his chest.)

Maybe Peter can use that to his advantage. If the Captain refuses to help — maybe Peter can use his own words against him. Because Peter wouldn’t give up, no matter what. This is his final hope of finding Mr. Stark, and he’s ready to do anything. So he’ll take a piece of Steve Rogers’ stubbornness and shove it down Cap’s  _ throat  _ if he has to. 

He’ll take that heart and shove  _ it _ down if need be. 

He needs to put aside his own personal worries about the Captain, and just  _ believe _ unconditionally that Mr. Stark will receive all the help he deserves. And when he believes something, he’ll work harder to attain that goal.

So. Refusing isn’t a choice for the Captain. And Peter will ensure it. 

(Somehow. Oh God.)

* * *

“What’s our ETA?” Peter asks, and right away makes an astonished face at having used such a cool term. Wow. He’s always wanted to say that, alongside with “Avengers assemble” and “This sausage is still alive”.

“Two minutes,” Natasha says, and Peter proceeds to fall from his seat.

“Wh-wh-wh-what???” he squeals from the floor, scrambling towards his mask. Oh God, oh God, oh  _ God— _

Natasha lets out a sound that suspiciously resembles an amused snort, and Peter pulls on the mask at the same time as the Quinjet begins to descend.

Peter flails back to his seat to buckle himself up and holds onto it for dear life as they touch the ground (too soon!! Too soon! Shit,  _ shit). _ It’s not out of turbulence or actual need that he grabs the seat, but out of a desperate attempt to stop shaking. Captain America!! Captain America!!!  _ The Captain America!!! _

The five-year old Peter Parker is screaming gleefully in his mind. The current Peter Parker is screaming less, and maybe less gleefully, but screaming nonetheless. He’s not sure from which emotion. Possibly just deep, bone-twisting dread.

“Let’s go, Spider-Man,” Natasha marches past him and towards the back of the Quinjet. She stops to haul up a previously unnoticed bag from the floor, and then bunches at the opening mechanism, resulting in the rear door opening with a hiss.

Peter is quite sure he’s sweating up a swimming pool, but fortunately no one will know that while he’s got the suit on. Will they? Does Captain America have an X-ray vision that can spot sweating? Can he… oh  _ God, _ can he  _ smell _ Peter sweating?? Peter’s quite sure Mr. Stark would’ve mentioned either of those skills, but  _ can he be sure??? _

Natasha looks at him, now clearly amused and not even trying to hide it, and she jerks her head to invite Peter out. Okay. Okay okay okay. It’s all fine, it’s all good. Peter is  _ cool. _ He’s already met Vision and the Black Widow.  _ Not  _ to mention  _ Iron Man. _ And Captain America has already punched him in the face.  _ He can do this. _

“I can’t do this,” he whimpers behind the mask, and Natasha seems to be fighting a genuine smile this time. Huh. Wonders never cease.

“You’ll manage,” she says. “Come on, they’re waiting.”

She walks out, and Peter tries to buff out his chest, desperately trying to appear as if he was in control of himself (he is not!!). 

“Oh, what the hell, Nat??” is the first thing he hears upon stepping out of the plane, and immediately manages to trip all over his feet.

He stumbles down the ramp the descending rear door has created, and almost crashes straight into Natasha before somehow, by some utter  _ miracle, _ he manages to catch himself, and stops.

And looks up at the more-or-less baffled faces of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, the latter having let out the exclamation.

_ Oh no. He has already made a fool of himself. _

“Kill me, right now,” he says pleadingly, turning wide eye slits in Natasha’s direction, who only seems to be enjoying every minute of this. 

“Natasha,” Sam Wilson starts slowly, “please tell me the cricket was a stowaway.”

“No,” both Natasha and Peter say at the same time, although in Peter’s case it’s more of an accidental blurt — he’s remembering quite fast the last time he met the Falcon; there were some…  _ disagreements. _

_ ‘Do it for Mr. Stark,’ _ he thinks, steeling himself, and then waves a hand.

“Heyy!” he chirps, and oh God, how is his voice suddenly like, at least three octaves higher?

It’s alright! He’s cool! He is  _ so damn cool. _

_ (“Keep telling that to yourself, kid,”  _ he hears Mr. Stark’s amused voice in his ears.)

“I’m Spider-Man!!” he continues, and wishes he would literally sink through the ramp and into the ground.

“Yeah, we know,” Sam Wilson (Mr. Wilson? The Falcon? Mr. Falcon? Peter’s poor head is spinning and he doesn’t quite know how to address these  _ AVENGERS!!!! OH GOD.)  _ says curtly; he has crossed his arms over his chest, his long-sleeved black shirt showing off his terrifying biceps. On top of the shirt he’s wearing a dark vest that is most likely full of Peter-killing weapons, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. His forehead is twisted into a frown as his dark eyes bore into Peter, the unhappy twist of his lips showing what he thinks of Peter’s sudden appearance.

“We need your help,” Natasha says before Mr. Wilson (Peter decides to settle for that for now) manages to continue, looking for all the world like he’s going to tell all of them  _ why _ exactly he hates seeing Peter standing in front of him.

It’s fair! Peter tried to punch him!! And won?! So? It’s totally okay if Mr. Wilson is holding a grudge. Peter is still cool.

(Mr. Stark is distantly laughing in the back of his head. Oh no, has he already started  _ hallucinating?) _

“What for?” says a deep voice, and Peter is suddenly brought into the crashing reality of the Actual Real Life Captain America standing next to the Actual Mr. Falcon.

The Actual Real Life Captain America. Not the plastic collector’s toy Peter has at home.

If his knees felt faint at the airport, it was nothing compared to this. He’s gonna  _ die. _

(His head is running through another litany of names, and he decides to settle for Captain for now. Otherwise his brain will most likely explode.)

The Captain is looking at him, clearly confused but too much of a professional to show it. He doesn’t  _ seem _ like he’s outright despising Peter’s existence, not like his fellow friend on his left does, but maybe he’s just good at hiding his emotions; not everyone is like  _ Peter _ who needs a literal  _ mask _ to hide the  _ waves _ of expressions that flick through his face all of the time.  _ Literally. _

Peter is processing a little slowly. But when he does, he realizes the Captain is sporting a thick beard that covers the whole of his chin.

“Oh my God. What is that on your face,” he says, and then actually proceeds to run back into the Quinjet to maybe hurl himself into space? That doesn’t sound like a bad option.

Natasha’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he can make it in, and she— she is laughing, soft chuckles breaking through her steely expression.

“Come on, Spidey, he’s heard worse about  _ that _ fashion choice,” she says, voice warm and teasing, and Peter feels like wailing when she drags him back into his previous place. “Get a grip; we’re on a mission.”

“Right,” Peter shakes himself. “A mission. Cool. Cool. I’m so cool.”

“From which nursery did you find him?” Mr. Wilson sounds bewildered, eyes flicking between Peter and Natasha; he’s actually starting to look bothered. The Captain is still holding onto his stone-faced confusion. There is a small line etched between his eyebrows (as finely shaped as the Statue of Liberty, Mr. Stark inexplicably snorts in Peter’s ear), and Peter finds it really intimidating to be standing here, being at least four inches shorter than the huge, bulky super soldier, and being like, a hundred percent less cool than him. Wow. Those school PSAs really don’t do justice to the actual  _ presence _ of the Actual Captain America.

“The Compound,” Natasha deadpans, fingers still curled around Peter’s wrist (Peter is going to faint soon, but it’s okay. The Black Widow will, if not catch him, at least stand by his side as he goes down. What a dream). She gives Mr. Wilson a poignant eyebrow that has Peter’s knees buckle a little bit (what a woman!) before she turns back to the Captain.

“Let’s talk inside,” she says. “Is Wanda around?”

“She’s preparing the snacks,” the Captain says, and there is the first hint of a humorous curve in the corner of his mouth as the words leave his lips.

Natasha smiles at him before she’s suddenly in motion, dragging Peter towards the… the… whatever that building is? It’s still night, and Peter can’t see very well, not with the Quinjet blocking the view to the back, and the big, dark building blocking it in the front, but it reminds him of the Compound..? An abandoned army base would make sense, but is that… is that safe?

The Captain and Mr. Wilson follow them, and Peter can hear Mr. Wilson hiss “Are you just  _ letting him in?” _ to the Captain; something he  _ isn’t _ technically supposed to be hearing, but… he can’t help it if he has super cool ears? Okay?

“Relax,” Natasha murmurs as they step to the door. “They’ll help.”

“The Falcon wants to yeet me into the ocean,” Peter responds miserably, and Natasha is once again fighting a smile. That is so weird. Maybe Peter has taco sauce on his mask?

Natasha pulls the door open and leads him through; it looks like an old factory, judging by the large hall they’ve stepped into, but there are no factory machines of any kind. Instead, in the middle of the long, vast room there is a small army tent, and outside of it three bedrolls are open on the floor, ready to be used.

Behind the tent there are scruffy-looking tables, and on top of them rest a bunch of electronics, machinery, and weapons — Peter spots at least three laptops, and  _ are those Falcon’s wings???  _ That is  _ so cool!! _ Peter wonders if he can finally find out what they are made of. 

The room looks like a place that’s lived in, despite the poor overall quality of the lodgings. The fact that the Scarlet Witch is sitting on one of the bedrolls, buttering up a sandwich, adds to the feeling.

Peter really needs to do a double take upon seeing  _ that. _

“Hi Wanda,” Natasha says brightly, and the young woman looks up. A smile starts forming on her lips, that is, until she spots Peter.

She goes stiff immediately but doesn’t do or say anything else. Instead she looks at Natasha with a hesitating expression full of questions.

The Captain and Mr. Wilson have now entered the base as well, and the Captain goes over to one of the laptops to quickly punch in a command Peter can’t quite see, since the man’s arm is in the way.

“The radar is on. We’re good,” the Captain then says, straightening up. He looks terribly intimidating in his dark suit, and did Peter think he was scary with his actual Captain America suit at the airport? Ha, he was so wrong. That Captain was like a soft, red and blue kitten compared to this one.

(And he has a beard! Peter’s inner voice chants, to which Peter is quick to agree.)

“Right,” Natasha says, and finally lets go of Peter’s wrist. It’s a terrible, terrible loss, but Peter will live on. “Guys, meet Spider-Man. He was in Berlin.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Wilson says, voice full of sarcasm that rivals Mr. Stark’s usual way of speaking, “we  _ remember.” _

Behind him, Ms. Maximoff stands up, a wary expression on her face.

“Why’s he here?” the Captain asks, now showcasing a real fully formed frown. Peter quite wants to yeet  _ himself _ into the ocean.

“Listen—” Natasha starts, and there is the briefest pause — the pause that tells Peter Natasha is  _ hesitant. _ She actually  _ isn’t _ sure about this.

A part of Peter starts losing hope; he needs to fight to keep down a tremble. 

“Stark’s been taken,” she finishes, and the mood in the room changes abruptly.

Mr. Wilson’s frown is back, only deeper now, becoming a real scowl. He’s hunching into himself, the muscles in his crossed arms bulging with tension, and it seems like he’s fighting  _ hard _ not to say something. The Scarlet Witch — Ms. Maximoff’s expression doesn’t waver, only her eyes seem to somewhat darken.

It’s the Captain Peter watches the closest, though, and feels his stomach plummet when the man’s expression hardens after a long while of just staring at Natasha.

“We think it’s HYDRA,” Natasha continues, after taking in the team’s expressions as well. She glances towards Peter, and somehow Peter gets the feeling she wants to comfort him, assure him that it will work — that these people will be willing to help.

Peter is hanging onto the very last thread, here.

“What would HYDRA do with _Stark?”_ Mr. Wilson says, and there is such spite in his voice that it makes Peter shudder; his hackles rise, and he would be jumping in to defend Mr. Stark right now, would gladly _punch_ the Falcon in the _face _because _Mr. Stark is missing, and God, he’s _**_missing,_**_ and there’s nothing Peter can do, and Peter is going to _**_lose him too,_** but someone else gets there first.

“What would any organization do with one of the best minds in the world, Sam?” the Captain says calmly, having crossed his arms over his chest, frowning deeply at Natasha. His tone is controlled and quiet, but it seems to work; Mr. Wilson looks away with a small snort, either not figuring out a good comeback (not very likely) or not wanting to fight the Captain (very likely). Ms. Maximoff looks like she wants to scoff, but in the end just her mouth twists slightly.

“We don’t know why he was taken,” Natasha tilts her head, also crossing her arms. The amount of crossed arms in the room is making Peter feel peer pressured. Also, he’s standing in a room full of Avengers, wearing bright spandex. It is both the best and the worst thing in his life.

He crosses his arms over his chest, just for the hell of it.

“There are no traces, but the bomb used as a… diversion has similar traces to some that we found in that one HYDRA base in France—” Wow, that is a story Peter wants to hear, “—and no matter what your personal opinions about him might be, you can’t deny this isn’t a bad situation. A mind like his in  _ any _ other hands than his is bad.”

“Bad in his hands as well,” Mr. Wilson mutters, and Peter  _ almost _ loses it again, but once again the Captain comes to the unexpected rescue.

“Nat is right,” he says, simple as that, and again Mr. Wilson quiets down. “Why come to us?” he directs his words to Natasha, who is the one to frown this time.

“Are you saying there are  _ other _ experts in taking down HYDRA bases aside from you? There is a man gone missing, a man we  _ can’t _ afford to lose, with you being the only capable one of both finding and rescuing him. This has  _ nothing _ to do with your shared history, Steve.”

(She’s scary.)

The Captain frowns. (There are so many people frowning. Peter scrunches up his eyebrows. He wonders if it gives him a mean look.)

He seems hesitant, now. Peter knows he has a good heart and had hoped that the man would ignore the turbulence between him and Mr. Stark in favor of saving a life.

Maybe he isn’t that good of a man. Maybe everyone was wrong about Captain America. Maybe— 

“No, it has everything to do with it,” the Captain says, and pauses. He looks over to Mr. Wilson and Ms. Maximoff, and then his eyes slide over to Peter. His expression is unreadable. “You said you suspected HYDRA?”

“Spider-Man here has more information,” Natasha says and motions towards Peter without uncrossing her arms. “He called me in when he couldn’t get any further.”

Well.  _ Vision _ called Natasha in without telling Peter beforehand, and what Peter has isn’t anything spectacular, most likely not even useful. But he has motivation. And he’ll sure as hell use it to convince the Captain.

“It— it— it isn’t much,” he stutters, chases after the pouch where the memory stick is for an embarrassingly long time before managing to fish it out. “H-h-here, um, it’s, uh, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s log and, and police reports and, um, th— that’s it, mostly,” his voice fades away and he feels ashamed. He should’ve been capable of doing more for Mr. Stark.

He feels frustration bile up in his throat; why are they standing here when they should be on the way to Mr. Stark?? The feeling of hopelessness that has become familiar in the past few days suddenly augments again, and Peter blinks several times to rid himself from tears.

“You did your best. Better than anyone else,” Natasha says, and hey, isn’t that weird, her soothing Peter like she  _ knows _ what’s going on in his head. He turns to face her, knowing that the mask won’t give away his expression, and his shoulders succumb.

“It wasn’t enough. I should’ve— I should’ve been— when th-they t-took him—” he says, voice feeble and shaky, but then the situation catches up with him. He can’t really afford to break down here, not in front of Captain America and his lot, that all seem to despise him. Maybe not the Captain, since he seemed to take Peter’s participation in the airport battle with good humor, but Ms. Maximoff is still eyeing at him with wariness and distrust, and Mr. Wilson clearly just wants to catapult Peter into the moon. (A romantic thought, but eh.)

“You did your best,” Natasha repeats firmly after Peter’s been collecting himself for a couple of seconds, and Peter only nods before turning his eye slits towards the Captain.

“Cap— Captain, y-you  _ need _ to help,” he says, and hell, he doesn’t care that his voice goes immediately pleading. He’s  _ way _ past that. “I have to save him, I  _ have _ to, and I don’t know how, and you’re— you’re the only hope I have left, like, literally, because i-if you don’t help there’s  _ no one _ who can, and I can’t— I can’t  _ find  _ him—”

“Breathe, Queens,” the Captain says, and Peter’s mouth snaps shut. He’s shaking. “What about the Colonel and Vision?”

“There’s no trace,” Natasha says. “You have basic knowledge on HYDRA camps, and the ways of finding them. They have none.”

“We could—” the Captain starts rubbing at his beard, which is such a surreal sight that for a moment Peter forgets all about Mr. Stark and only thinks of Gandalf but with supersoldier powers, “—check if any of the bases known to us have had increased activity in the last few days. First we need to be sure it’s HYDRA, though.”

As the words leave his lips Mr. Wilson moves, and before Peter can really do anything (he’s waiting for a punch in the face) the man has breezed past him, snatching the memory stick from his upheld hand, and heads for one of the computers. He doesn’t hesitate for a second before plugging the memory stick into a free slot and soon starts tapping away. 

Peter follows it happening with a numb mind; did he understand right? Is the Captain willing to help?? And Mr. Wilson didn’t even question it, despite his initial dislike of both Peter and Mr. Stark, and was ready to just plug the memory stick in without stopping to check if it was all a trap? 

The Captain really is a man worth following if someone like the Falcon is ready to go with him,  _ just like that,  _ Peter thinks with heart eyes.

Oh  _ no. _ He might be a little bit in love.

This time Mr. Stark will  _ actually  _ kill him.

His heart breaks for Natasha, but the Captain… the Captain is a man worth crushing for.

(“A man who almost  _ crushed _ you,” Mr. Stark snarls warningly in his mind. Peter really needs to stop hallucinating soon, but takes comfort in his mentor’s voice.)

“Well,” Ms. Maximoff speaks for the first time, “I hope we didn’t make these in vain.” She motions towards the sandwich pile, and Peter realizes how  _ hungry  _ he is.

“Oh, definitely not, Ms. Maximoff, ma’am,” he blurts out before he can think, and then hopes she won’t fry his head.

Instead she just regards him silently, then looks to Natasha for guidance.

“We’ve had a long journey,” Natasha smiles and strolls forward, flopping down on one of the bedrolls without much care of to whom it belongs. To Mr. Wilson according to the slight noise of protest Peter can hear from his direction. 

“Then tuck in,” the Captain says. “I’m going to…” is that hesitation in his voice? “...refuel the Quinjet.”

Without another word he leaves the room, a slightly awkward air around him. and Peter watches after him with a confused crease between his eyebrows. He had never thought the Captain could sound  _ hesitant.  _

“Come, Spidey,” Natasha pats at the bedroll, although Peter suspects she doesn’t  _ really _ mean he can sit right next to her, “eat. When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh. There was this super good spaghetti Bolognese Mr. Vision made, or at least I think it was him, since no one else was around and I think he was trying to lure me out of the workshop, but it’s possible it was Rhodey who cooked it since I hadn’t really been around, and I’m not even sure if Vision  _ can _ cook, since he doesn’t have taste buds, so—”

“So the talking thing wasn’t just a battle thing,” Mr. Wilson sighs and comes over with the laptop, and  _ he _ sits down right next to Natasha.

Peter eyes at the Captain’s literal  _ bed  _ for a few terrible seconds before sliding down on the floor beside Natasha, as close as he dares to get before he starts feeling jittery from her proximity.

“No, it isn’t. It’s actually quite endearing after a while,” Natasha says peacefully and reaches for a sandwich. Peter is going to see the Black Widow eat a sandwich. What is his life?? “I can see why Stark likes him.”

“For the same reasons I  _ don’t,”  _ Mr. Wilson mutters, and Peter cheerfully agrees that it’s fair. He did kinda kick the Falcon pretty hard after all.

“Do you want a pickle or a ham sandwich?” Ms. Maximoff directs her words at him, and Peter is caught between a pickle and a ham.

“... Hhhham,” he exhales, and carefully rolls up the lower part of his mask, so that only his mouth is visible. Ms. Maximoff  _ levitates the ham sandwich  _ towards him, and Peter is  _ almost  _ too shocked to catch it.

In the end, his instincts to reach for food win over his spinning mind and he cradles the sandwich close to his chest. Food. Food is good.

“Has your accent gotten better?” Natasha asks Ms. Maximoff while Peter starts wolfing down the sandwich, and Ms. Maximoff smiles for the first time. Wow. She’s so pretty too. They’re all so pretty. Peter is glad of the mask; that way he can pretend he’s pretty too, and that he could belong to this band of superheroes.  _ Awesome. _

“Yes... But I still need to widen my vocabulary.” 

Natasha hums, nodding with what looks like satisfaction.

“I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between her and an American, so, good job, woo,” Mr. Wilson states while tapping away on the laptop, then hums. “The bomb signature is pretty damn close to the one in France. And they way F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s data has distorted is familiar too.”

“So, looks like HYDRA?” Natasha leans closer to him to peek at the laptop screen. Mr. Wilson nods curtly.

“They’re my main suspect. Too many similarities… Hey, bug boy. What happened to Stark, in detail?”

“I would like to hear that too,” the Captain says from behind him, and Peter swallows half of his huge bite immediately, making him cough. 

If his eyes water, he blames the sandwich.

He watches how the Captain comes over to sit down on his bedroll and reaches for a sandwich. Peter doesn’t quite know what to do with him in the same room. Does he need to look cool? He’ll have to pretend to be older, though, because there is no way the others would let him come along to the rescue mission, if they knew. 

“There… there was a bomb,” he says, hates how his hands start trembling the moment he thinks back to it—

Mr. Wilson snorts.

“Yeah, that’s become pretty clear—”

“Sam,” the Captain says, quietly, and Mr. Wilson makes a face at him before returning his gaze to the screen.

“Go on,” the Captain turns to look at Peter. The tone of his voice hasn’t changed a bit, but Peter has to… has to be imagining the slightly sympathetic look in his eyes? “So there was a bomb?” 

Feeling terribly discouraged by Mr. Wilson and maximally encouraged by the Captain, Peter nods while his mind is going through a crisis of some sort.

“Y-y-yeah. Um, I mean, we’d just been to— to an ice cream parlor, we do that every week, just to eat ice cream, since Mr. Stark really needs to learn to relax, he’s always working, so I suggested we go for an ice cream once and then it became a thing, so we’ve been going there for months and—” Peter catches Mr. Wilson look progressively more scornful and realizes he’s rambling again. It’s not something he usually feels self-conscious about, but now, for some reason, it hits him hard, adding to the terrible feeling of having to think of what happened. “—and. And. And we were leaving the parlor and walking to his car, which is always parked f-further…”  _ rambling  _ “...and, uh, the b-bomb, the bomb went off. In the junction.”

He looks down at the sandwich, not hungry anymore. And as quickly as he started caring about Mr. Wilson’s opinions on his ramblings, they suddenly don’t matter anymore. Nothing but Peter’s  _ failure _ matters.

“I— I sensed it before it happened. I have this— this, tingle that tells me— I tried to… I tried to shield him.” His voice goes faint. His hands are visibly shaking now. “And I… I couldn’t move afterwards, ‘cos I took the brunt of the bomb on my back, but it’s okay, since I heal fast, but… I can’t remember m-much, b-but Mr. Stark was— he was talking to me, a-and then—”

He feels tears burn his eyes and berates himself for crying  _ so easily.  _ He should be— these are Avengers in front of him. They’ve seen worse things than Peter can ever imagine. How can he make himself appear strong and trustworthy in dire situations if he cries over something like  _ this? _

“There w-were men with g-gas masks that came from b-behind him, a-and I saw them but I couldn’t s-speak,” his voice is trembling now too, having gone quiet and weak. God, he hates himself sometimes. “T-they… they grabbed him and he was fighting b-but then one of the men  _ s-shot _ me a-and Mr. Stark, h-he… t-they took him  _ a-away.” _

“How?” Mr. Wilson says in a business-like tone, not giving Peter a chance to draw in a shuddering breath, nor for him to steel his quivering shoulders.

“V-v-van,” Peter mumbles, fighting to keep a sob down. Hasn’t he cried enough these past few days??

“No, I mean, how did they manage to take him? Why didn’t he fight back? He’s  _ annoyingly  _ capable. How does you getting shot result in them taking him away, since you already couldn’t move?” Mr. Wilson’s voice is spiteful again and Peter wants to cry, wants to punch someone, because Mr. Stark  _ doesn’t deserve that.  _ He’s been  _ taken,  _ and can’t defend himself, and  _ he thinks Peter is dead.  _ He’s somewhere out there, and doesn’t know Peter is still alive.

Peter, for all he tries to stop it, bursts into heart-wrenching sobs.

God, he’s  _ never  _ going to live this down, crying in front of superheroes like this. But the loss of Mr. Stark is heavier, and blindsides him to everything else.

“H-h-he thinks I  _ d-died,”  _ he sobs, and now there’s anger and frustration, the same feelings he’s had ever since Mr. Stark was taken coming back in full force, and now it’s all directed towards Mr. Wilson, pouring out in his voice. “T- _ that’s  _ why he didn’t f-f-fight, ’cos he  _ g-g-gave up!” _

The man who never would, not under any circumstances — Peter knows him well enough, has always admired Mr. Stark’s perseverance. But upon thinking Peter dead… he gave up.

Peter curls forward and jerks with the sobs, the embarrassing sounds now escaping his mouth unhinged. He isn’t even trying to control his grief anymore, because he simply can’t; it’s too heavy, too much, suffocating him from the inside out.

Distantly he hears Natasha murmur something, but he can’t make anything out of it, not through his crying. There’s a bit of some shuffling around him, and eventually a hand lands on his shoulder.

He can smell Natasha, her scent surprisingly down-to-earth. Peter doesn’t think she’s using a fragrance of any kind; maybe smelling like flowers doesn’t really work on stealth missions.

Her hands wrap around him and he’s pulled forward, his head landing on her shoulder, and even though Peter knows who it is, and how he really  _ shouldn’t,  _ he can’t stop himself from pressing into her, sobbing against her with abandon.

She’s shushing him, stroking her fingers softly up and down his back. Her hold of him is tight and Peter finds himself yearning for it; he distantly realizes that no one has hugged him since it happened, and he thinks of May.

Maybe he should’ve told her the truth. She could’ve come to the Compound, and she would’ve offered him comfort in both mental and physical form, from soft reassuring words to firm hugs that make Peter feel like nothing bad in the world can get him. 

He misses her, regretting that he lied. But… but he didn’t want to  _ worry _ her.

Now, in Natasha’s arms, he can pretend it’s May for a moment, and can let his deep ache for Mr. Stark take over.

* * *

It takes a while for Peter to calm down; he’s cried over Mr. Stark before, but not with such abandon. The sorrow and pain and the feeling of it all being his fault mix together, swirling deep in his gut, and he wants Mr. Stark, wants him back so bad and so desperately it surpasses the aching longing for Uncle Ben he used to feel right after the man’s death. 

He knows now, several years later and with the help of both Aunt May and Mr. Stark, that there was nothing he could’ve done to prevent it, and that wallowing in guilt isn’t something Ben would’ve wanted. So he got over it as well as he could, and in that Mr. Stark was essential. In him Peter found a new father-figure, someone to look up to, someone to correct his mistakes and guide him in life, and now that Peter is at risk of losing  _ him… _

Maybe it’s because he isn’t sure of Mr. Stark’s affections. He doesn’t know what he means to him, if he means anything at all. And if he were to lose him now, he would never find out. And it would hurt even more.

He ends up curled in the highest corner of the room after having pulled away from Natasha. She and Mr. Wilson are working relentlessly on laptops and Peter could go and help them, but he can’t bear the thought of trying, and failing again. He needs a moment before he can pull his never-ending positivity out again.

(It’s been missing quite a lot past these few days.)

He hasn’t been talking to anyone since his god-awful breakdown (which is seriously  _ so _ uncool. They’re never going to see him as anything but a crybaby now), not even to Karen. He doesn’t feel like he has the  _ rights _ to cheer up. He wants to embrace the pain, wants it to keep on reminding him of how he  _ failed. _

It’s easy to go on and joke about anything and everything, and to forget how Mr. Stark must be suffering right now, how he’s been taken away from Peter. It’s difficult to hold onto the sorrow, but now that Peter has let it take over, he doesn’t think he can get rid of it.

Suddenly such things as being in the same room with Captain America and the other heroes seems insignificant and doesn’t hold such weight as before. 

Peter’s nose feels clogged, but that’s objectively his fault, since he’s hanging upside down from the ceiling and is still kind of crying. The tears don’t come out with force anymore, but rather slip from under his eyelids, silent and traitorous as the fabric of the mask absorbs them before no one but Peter and Karen know of their existence.

He has wrapped his jacket around himself and is determinedly tearing away the sleeves again. He really should stop. He should  _ stop.  _

_ Stop.  _

“Queens?”

Peter opens his eyes and discovers the Captain standing right under him. He’s looking up, hands on his hips and brows drawn together into a terrible, worried frown.

_ The National Puppy Eyes that make republicans cry,  _ Mr. Stark once said. Peter can… Peter can  _ totally _ see it. 

“Would you like to come down? For a chat,” The Captain asks, definitely sounding hesitant now.

Peter swallows, as well as he can in his position anyway.

“Do I have a choice?” he calls out, not sure if it’s an order or not.

The Captain’s face morphs into a sympathetic, if not careful smile.

“Of course you do.”

Peter contemplates about it for a moment, then flips himself down next to the Captain before he can overthink it too hard.

To his credit, the Captain only looks mildly alarmed of Peter basically having fallen from the ceiling.

“Cap?” Peter asks, hates how feeble and quiet his voice still sounds, and the Captain walks over to the wall to sit down, his back resting against the concrete the building is made of.

“Steve,” he sighs, patting the floor in an open invitation. Any other moment Peter would have been mentally screaming, but now he just feels numb.  _ Numb.  _ “Can’t exactly call myself a captain anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s really true, but whatever,” Peter shrugs, and throws himself on the floor before he can overthink  _ that  _ action.

The Captain  _ (Steve!!  _ He’s on a first name basis with  _ CAPTAIN AMERICA!!!)  _ huffs and shakes his head slightly, but there is a small smile on his lips.

Silence takes over their corner for a while, before the Capt— Steve speaks out. 

“You and Tony are close.”

Peter looks up, glad that the mask isn’t giving anything away. He’s quite sure the tears are still running.

He does remark that the Captain is calling Mr. Stark by his first name. It somehow softens Peter’s initial wariness of what this conversation might hold.

(Mr. Stark calls the Captain “Rogers”, when he’s conscious of his words. Next up is “Cap”, which might slip out more casually, without him really noticing, whenever he’s retelling something concerning a mission or giving a lecture that includes the other Avengers as an Example. Peter has heard Mr. Stark call the Captain “Steve” only once;

_ “Really, kid, I’m just saying— are you  _ ** _really_ ** _ sure you can trust Ted. Ed? Ced? Zed? With the whole business?” _

_ “Yeah, c’mon, it’s  _ ** _Ned._ ** _ Ned wouldn’t betray me.” _

_ “Yeeeah, that’s what I thought about Steve — heads up, hologram incoming! U, get your ass... _ ** _thetic _ ** _ wheels over here!” _

Somehow, it’s very telling.

The Captain isn’t mad at Mr. Stark. But Mr. Stark is  _ very  _ mad. And they’re both really, really sad, too. Peter can see it in the stoic expression of the Captain, and he could see it in the hunched shoulders of Mr. Stark.)

He fidgets a little with his ruined sleeve, and then jerks his head in a curt nod.

“He… I’m like, super loyal to him,” he opts to say, since it is a point he needs to make  _ very _ clear, in case the Captain got it into his head that Spider-Man would be a worthy add-on to his group of outlaws. “I’m ready to do anything to save him.” That as well is true; a good phrase without giving away just  _ how _ much Peter  _ needs _ Mr. Stark in his life.

The Captain chuckles, albeit it sounds like he’s a bit down.

“I can see that, since you’re here. I’d imagine you wanted nothing to do with us, since… well, since me and Tony…”

He falls into a silence that to Peter only feels sad and regretful. At least if the expression on the Captain’s — Steve’s face is anything to go by. 

“Mr. Stark will quite positively kill me, which is like,  _ big  _ oof, but I’m— I already— I already failed him  _ once,”  _ Peter chokes, despite trying  _ so hard _ to keep it together, “and I won’t… I won’t let it happen again. So I’m here. But it’s not like I had a choice, since I asked help from Natasha — the Black Widow, that is, uh, she lets me call her by her first name, how crazy is that?? And er, she, she, she brought us here? So since you’re the only hope I have left, I don’t really have a  _ choice,  _ but yeah, Mr. Stark is going to turn me into a puree for this. Which is okay, since I’m pretty much breaking rule number one here, which is, uh,  _ ‘don’t mingle with criminals’,  _ not that I think you’re a criminal, sir, of course not, but the  _ law—  _ the  _ Secretary  _ thinks so, and uh, rules are more like guidelines anyway, right? So, yeah, I’m gonna die. But it’s totally worth it!!”

Silence ensues, and Peter realizes that he  _ might  _ have taken a little long to answer the Capt— Steve. The Steve? God, this is  _ hard.  _

“Um, maybe just, cut off like, 90 percent of what I just said?” he suggests weakly, but then there is a completely unexpected  _ smile _ on the Steve’s (getting better) face. 

Peter stares. He wasn’t waiting for that.

“Nat wasn’t lying,” the Steve says, sounding warm and… amused? “I can see why Tony likes you. I bet a discussion between you two is something to behold.”

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the amusement morphs back into sadness and regret.

“Things are a bit difficult between me and Tony at the moment,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Peter physically has to force himself to stay silent and not blurt out “no shit Sherlock” like a 12-year old. (Mr. Stark still hollers it in his ear, but it’s okay. It’s Mr. Stark.)

“He won’t be happy to see me,” Steve (hey! Peter made it!) makes it sound like a warning, which is entirely needless. Peter is  _ well _ aware of it. 

He watches how Steve’s fingers curl into impressive fists.  _ Those fists have punched Nazis,  _ Peter thinks, and realizes that maybe he and the Captain aren’t that different, at least when it comes to personal values. 

“He might shoot me right where I stand, but I… I wanted to reassure you that I won’t leave him hanging. He deserves more than that.”

“Mr. Stark misses you,” Peter blurts out, and then to his horror notices he  _ did actually blurt it out.  _ “I  _ mean,  _ oh God, he’s gonna shoot me  _ first. _ He—”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, voice reassuring now. There’s something in it that just makes Peter believe that it  _ is _ okay. Everything in the world  _ is  _ okay, if Captain America says so. “I miss him too. I miss what we had with the team. But I don’t regret what happened — I regret that it  _ had  _ to happen, that our ways had to part, but... I would do it again if I had to.”

He pauses. Peter doesn’t say anything yet, and Mr. Stark hisses  _ “that stubborn  _ ** _jackass_ ** _ ” _ into his ear. (It’s not really Mr. Stark, only Peter’s vivid imagination, and as such it’s okay for the voice to swear.)

“I won’t ask for your trust, since I know you’re firmly on Tony’s side, and I have deep respect for that… In fact, I wanted to apologize for Sam. He’s a good man, but he can hold a grudge. His feelings towards Tony shouldn’t affect his opinion of you.”

“To be fair,” Peter is talking again, feeling like a train that can’t be stopped; his words are the train and Peter’s capability to stop them is a bowl of soup on the tracks — ineffective as  _ hell. _ “I did beat him? So, so, it’s totally okay if he doesn’t like me, like, I’d totally expect it and all that, but I just— I just don’t like it when he talks badly about Mr. Stark, because Mr. Stark is  _ amazing, _ and I don’t mean to, to downplay Mr. Wilson’s intelligence or anything, he’s the Falcon so he  _ has _ to be super intelligent, right? But he’s not… he’s not  _ Mr. Stark, _ so he c-can’t really see what Mr.  _ Stark  _ does, because Mr. Stark is a  _ genius, _ and he  _ always _ sees the bigger picture, so, uh. Not that Mr. Wilson  _ doesn’t, _ but he, uh, doesn’t see the  _ same _ big picture as Mr. Stark, er. Oh, um, I’m shutting up now, Mr. Captain, sir, America, Steve, uh.”

Mr. Captain, sir, America, Steve looks a bit like he’s at a loss for words. It’s okay. He’s not the first person to be overwhelmed by Peter’s verbal vomits.

“Frankly speaking, I don’t like it much either,” Steve finally says, and Peter has to pick apart everything that came out of his mouth to find out what the Captain is referring to.

And then, oh.  _ Ohhh. _

“Y— wh— you don’t—”

“Me and Tony have our disagreements. It doesn’t mean he isn’t a brilliant man, or a good one. Dismissing his better traits does not do a service to anyone. That is where me and Sam butt heads.”

“What does Mr. Wilson  _ expect? _ Mr. Stark’s been pushed into— into a corner!” Peter is surprised by his harsh tone. But the need to defend Mr. Stark rises again and truthfully, he doesn’t give a  _ damn.  _ “What  _ could  _ Mr. Stark do, other than, well, try to push for amendments in the Accords?”

“He’s doing that?” Steve sounds surprised, and Peter narrows his eyes at the man.

“It’s like there’s a hole in the Compound,” he says. “There— there are doors that are never opened, there are empty seats in the kitchen, in the  _ communal _ kitchen that is way too big for him and Vision and Rhodey alone, he’s— Mr. Stark says something and it’s like he— like he  _ waits _ for someone to comment on it, but when it’s only me answering I can… I can  _ tell _ I’m not the one he waited for, and— of  _ course _ he is making amendments. He’s, he told me that, uh, even though he hates your guts—” Steve winces, and Peter  _ does _ feel sorry for him, even though he’s pretty sure Mr. Stark is like, half-lying about it, “—it doesn’t mean you guys should be down on the  _ criminal _ record. And, and, also that the Secretary is a real ass, so, um.”

Steve is quiet for a long time after that.

When he speaks, it is with a heavy tone.

“I’m glad you’re in his corner. God knows he needs people around. I’m sorry it couldn’t be us.”

“It could’ve been, if you’d  _ trusted _ him,” Peter mumbles, finding confidence in his grief, and next to him Captain America draws in a deep breath, nodding in both defeat and regret.

“I hope I’ll still have a chance to do just that,” Steve says, and claps a strong, unwavering hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Queens. Keep it up. And a word of advice — don’t listen to a word Sam says. He  _ can  _ be a right asshole.”

(Did Captain America just say “asshole”? Any other day, and Peter would be so  _ shook.) _

Steve stands up, stilling for a moment with his hands resting on his hips. He looks over to where Mr. Wilson and Natasha are still working on the laptops, and Ms. Maximoff is lying on her bedroll, participating in the discussion whenever there is a good slot for it. He looks tired; Peter now recognizes the crease between his eyebrows as one caused by worry.

It feels good, knowing that the Captain cares enough to worry about Mr. Stark.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone important,” Steve talks, still looking over to the rest of his small team. His jaw clenches. “I also know the desperation and need of getting them back.”

He turns to face Peter, and it feels like his blue gaze is traveling straight through, drilling deep into Peter’s bones, lighting him with fire that had already managed to fade away;  _ he is going to punch them Nazis in the face, and Captain America will surely approve. _

“I’ll do anything to get Tony back,” Steve says, and Peter believes him. “I promise.”

Peter feels too faint to form any words but manages a nod. He thinks that maybe, he can trust Captain America.

_ Don’t do anything I would do. _

As terrible as it is, as  _ heartbreaking _ as it is, he thinks trusting Captain America falls into this category.

He is so  _ dead  _ when Mr. Stark hears about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can I just say, Sam is an absolute LEGEND.
> 
> I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Feedback is seriously SO cherished and appreciated!!
> 
> come also shout at me on my [tumblr!](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com)


	3. Criminal Fraternizing (Absolutely Unrecommended By Mr. Stark)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about it taking so long to post this chapter!! I've been awfully busy with all things life, so needless to say, editing a chapter takes the backseat.... We get a bit of Steve POV in this one! yey
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback on the earlier chapter!!! Really makes me feeling like I'm floating on a happy cloud. You guys are amazing <3
> 
> Thanks to Daisy and Kaisa for endlessly helping me!

“It is definitely HYDRA.”

The words jolt Peter out of his half-asleep state in which he’s spent most of the night, unable to fall into deep sleep. He’s been aware of people moving in the room, occasionally leaving only to return a short while afterwards, or them talking with each other in hushed tones without Peter making sense of their mumbled words. The previous day’s emotional toll has left him in an exhausted state, stemming from both the nerve-wracking journey and the conversation with Captain America, who did come off as a really, really cool dude, but is still slightly scary. It’s not every day you have a deep chat with _Captain America._

_(!!!!)_

“Is it?” Natasha’s voice cuts through his waking haze, to which Mr. Wilson lets out an agreeing sound.

“Yeah. Look at… at _these_ readings — exactly the same. And we found those jamming devices a week ago, didn’t we, Cap?”

“Yeah… show me again. We have no room for error.”

There’s silence, during which Peter slowly drags himself up from the floor, feeling for all the world like a building has been dropped on him again. He’s stiff and every place hurts, but he puts it down to having dozed on the cold concrete; he should be up and at it soon enough.

“It’s HYDRA?” he asks, and all other occupants in the room turn their heads towards him sharply, their faces mere blank masks.

“Uh. H-hi? S-Spider-Man, we know each other, pleasedon’tshootme even if you forgot my existence,” he blurts and waves uncertainly, and lets his hand drop with a sigh of relief when Natasha’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“Relax, Spidey. We’re good,” she says, and motions for him to come closer. “We found a similarity between F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s log and one of the jamming devices HYDRA has been developing recently. We knew them to be strong, but… not this strong.” She sounds slightly disturbed, which is totally fair, Peter is disturbed too. “But it fits what we’ve seen. If there is one organization out there capable of building something like this, it’s HYDRA. S.H.I.E.L.D. might’ve once, but…”

Peter slots himself between Natasha’s back and Steve’s chest, feeling like out of the four Avengers in the room, these two are the least likely to suddenly yeet him six feet under. Steve shifts a little, giving him more space, and while usually Peter would be hyper aware of Captain America standing right behind him like they’re _buddies,_ now his sole focus is on the laptop.

Because it’s true. The data on the screen matches, and that means—

That means…

“So we— we, we have a trail,” he says weakly, and Natasha throws him a warm glance over her shoulder as she nods, smiling encouragingly.

“We do,” she confirms. “Now we just have to find where he’s being held. Sam?”

“On it,” Mr. Wilson says. “I’ll check all the increased activity we’ve noticed but haven’t yet done anything about… Butterfly, your suit stinks. Stop breathing on me.”

“Oh, sorry!” Peter flails to scramble a bit further away, but Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops him. In fact, it roots him directly to where he’s standing. Like concrete. Concrete that makes you want to sing the national anthem.

_“Sam.”_ Steve says with a voice that has Peter _immediately_ wanting to stand to attention and recite all the possible Captain America PSAs the school has been feeding into his brain since 2013.

Mr. Wilson pulls a face. His fingers on the keyboard stop moving and he sighs.

“Rrright. Alright, _Spider-Man,_ look—”

“No, no, it’s _totally_ fair? I mean, I’ve had the suit on for _ages,_ and like, it’s super comfortable and all, but it could breathe better? And I’ve been so nervous with all this that I’ve been sweating like a _horse _— do horses sweat? They don’t _heave,_ do they?? —_Anyway,_ as I was saying, I really should have a wash so Mr. Wilson is _totally_ right, I feel damp all over which is so not cool— and I _did_ kick you hard, Mr. Wilson, Falcon sir, so it’s all fine, I get why you don’t like me and I’m sorry about it, but it was kinda my job, and I _really_ wanted to impress Mr. Stark— I think I did, if that’s any consolation? Also, can I just say, I _love_ your wings, they’re _awesome,_ man,” Peter waves his hands around in what he believes is a placating manner. It’s all he can do to move, with Steve’s hand on his shoulder.

Mr. Wilson stares at him, mouth hanging open from having been interrupted (oh shit! Peter did it again!!), before he slowly closes it and swallows, his Adam’s apple popping visibly.

“They—” he coughs. “They’re pretty awesome, I know.”

That seems to be about the only thing he can get out for now, and after everyone else has been staring at him and he has been staring at Peter with that same slightly dumbfounded expression (Peter is confused) for a good chunk of time, he turns back to the laptop.

“You can take a look at them,” he says, without looking up from the screen. “This’ll take a while anyway. Just don’t break anything.”

_“Dude,”_ Peter doesn’t _squeal,_ he _doesn’t,_ but, _man, how cool is that???_ “Really?? That’s so _cool! _I’ll be careful, I _promise— _Mr. Stark always breaks more stuff than me anyway, my stuff only explodes if he’s been meddling with it—”

Without further ado he wriggles away from Steve’s hold and skips over to the one table where the wings are laid out, gorgeous and absolutely _perfect. _From what Peter has seen, the thrust to weight ratio is _insane,_ not to mention the amazing durability of the wings. Anything that can take swirling through the air at such speeds, added to their maneuverability, needs to be amazingly strong but flexible, but decreasing the rigidity of the material hasn’t affected its strength… not to mention that with these wings, the Falcon can actually _fly, _like an actual _bird,_ so what’s up with _that— _

“I think you broke Sam there for a moment,” a voice speaks behind him, and he jumps (not into the ceiling, it’s too high, but him startling is still as embarrassing), flipping around. Natasha stands there with a travel mug pointed at him, and Peter looks down at it with a confused frown.

“Come, we’re going into the jet,” Natasha jerks her head towards the door while continuing to offer the mug to Peter. He takes it, bringing it up to the mask to sniff its contents.

“It’s coffee. Breakfast. The others stay here, you get to take the suit off for a while. There’s a shower. Let’s go.” Natasha turns on her heels and walks towards the door, exchanging a nod with Steve, who offers Peter a tentative smile right afterwards.

Peter, fluttery and distantly remembering he has a mild _crush_ on Captain America, follows Natasha. The wings are _awesome,_ he’d love to bury himself into their mechanisms for hours, but the prospect of taking off the suit for the first time in roughly 24 hours is way too tempting. He can always come back to the wings. _And_ he’s pretty sure Mr. Stark has their specs somewhere. Maybe if he asked extra nicely… like, _so_ nicely…

They step into the Quinjet and Peter doesn’t waste a moment in tearing off his mask. His skin feels damp and slightly numb, and this is _exactly_ what he was working on before his life was so rudely interrupted by the Gas Mask Men — while the suit _is_ made of breathable fabric, it still isn’t that comfortable to wear for extended periods of time.

Natasha points at a door leading into a small bathroom, and Peter locks himself in there with abandon. He takes a quick shower - Mr. Stark has had one installed in all the Quinjets since model Y-65, having named it a “necessity” in case of long missions. After having scrubbed all the remaining stink of the suit from his skin, he slips into his jeans and pulls on a fresh shirt he fortunately packed. (Thank you, Vision!)

He makes a beeline for the coffee upon emerging from the bathroom, and discovers Natasha waiting for him with a ready-made ham sandwich, and... is that eggs Peter can smell? He’s already in heaven.

“Better?” Natasha smiles at him and beckons him to sit down next to her in the middle of the floor, and Peter follows her lead, feeling more and more natural in his interactions with her. Is she still intimidating? Yes. Is she still capable of dismembering Peter with a piece of ham? Yes, but she’s… she’s starting to feel familiar, in the same way Rhodey is. She’s someone Peter respects and admires, but he doesn’t go into a full-blown stutter fest anymore. _Thank God._

“Yeah, thanks. That felt great,” he gives her a grin and does a double-take — it’s his very first honest smile ever since Mr. Stark was taken, he thinks.

One part of his stomach plummets and he feels sick. Does it take him this little time to get over one of the most important people in his life? Does Peter have the _right _to be _happy?_

If Natasha notices his grin slip away faster than what would be natural, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just pushes the sandwich into his hands with a firm look. Yesterday, Peter would’ve peed himself from being on the receiving end of that expression. Now he just feels mildly terrified. Progress!

“Eat. You’ll need it later. We’re hoping to get a ping on his whereabouts today, and we’ll be out as soon as that happens.”

“What if he’s kept somewhere you’ve never heard of?” Peter asks with his mouth full before remembering to swallow.

“We… we know of quite a few places. It’s also possible that they’ve taken Tony out of the country, in which case we have a bit of a problem — but given his ability to… self-manage his escapes more often than not, we think HYDRA would have wanted to get him somewhere secure as fast as they can. If he’d been transported abroad, I think we’d have heard from him already,” Natasha takes a small, thoughtful bite of her own sandwich. Peter wonders briefly whether Steve and his lot eat anything else but sandwiches and canned beans these days.

“It’s already been so long,” he mutters, dread weighing in the pit of his stomach once again, cold and heavy. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

“It’ll never be too late,” Natasha says firmly, and sighs. “Peter... Steve thought to have lost his best friend in the war, and found him 70 years later. There’s no such thing as ’too late’, as long as… we don’t have _proof_ of it.”

So otherwise said, if they don’t find Mr. Stark’s body, or see him die in front of their eyes.

Peter shivers.

Natasha gives him a look that says she knows exactly what kind of imagery passed through his mind.

“We’ll find him, however long it takes.”

Peter stares at the travel mug. He knows it is so — they’ll find Mr. Stark, one way or another. In one shape or another. But just what shape will it be? And how long will it take? Deep down Peter fears that they’ll never, ever find him. And Peter would spend the rest of his life looking, always hanging onto that final thread of hope that maybe _tomorrow_ he can bring Mr. Stark _home. _The Avengers might call it useless after a while; if they don’t find Mr. Stark now, who’s to say they won’t pull away from the mission and go on living their fugitive lives? At least Mr. Wilson and Ms. Maximoff seem to be along with the search only because their captain said so. And what happens when Steve finally declares the mission futile? Peter doesn’t think Natasha would like to spend the rest of her life looking for Mr. Stark either.

Not like Peter would.

“Steve won’t rest until we find him,” Natasha says firmly after a moment, looking at his face contemplatively. It’s apparent she can read his mind, which under any other circumstances would be cool as hell, because she’s the Black Widow. Now Peter just feels numb, the future painted behind his eyelids is too terrible for him to care about anything else. “Believe me, Peter, I won’t either. We’re bringing him home. Or following his taillights, whichever comes first.”

“You…” Peter draws in a shuddering breath. “Y-you really think he’ll escape on his own.”

“Eventually, yes,” Natasha smiles down at her sandwich. She looks beautiful, the morning light radiating through the cockpit windows, making her hair look like a bright halo in its lightness. “It’s Stark. He’ll break through stone with a shoelace.”

Her smile seems private and honest; Peter wonders if it’s an inside joke, once shared by the Avengers.

“Sounds like him,” he mutters. “Mr. Stark never lets anything stand in his way.”

“It’s one of his best traits.” Natasha says, shaking her head slightly with a sigh. “And one of his worst.”

Well. Peter _can’t_ really disagree with that.

“He’ll bite into ice cream even if he’s the only person in the world doing it,” Natasha continues, and Peter shudders involuntarily. He already almost forgot about _that._

“He’s got the will to push through.”

Natasha’s words halt him; Mr. Stark’s voice, his final cry rings in his ears.

_“No— Peter! No, no, F.R.I.D.A.Y., dammit!! The suit— Peter!!”_

“Even if he gave up?” he asks quietly, voice feeble. He’s lost his appetite again, just like yesterday.

Mr. Stark would hit him in the face with a pizza if he heard about Peter going so long without eating.

“Tony thrives in desperation,” Natasha’s gaze drills into him. “It’s in his nature to fight back when all hope is gone — _even _if he gave up in a moment of shock. Tony Stark is many things, but he is not a quitter.”

“I— I want to believe that,” Peter sniffles; there are no tears, but his throat is tight and there is a heavy, freezing stone in his guts that just won’t let him rest. “I really, really _gotta_ believe that. He’s— he’s _so_ important, he— Nat—” the nickname slips out, but Natasha doesn’t look affronted. Instead she just leans closer, head tilted in a sympathetic, understanding motion, her previously firm expression melting into something that makes Peter’s heart ache. He craves for her embrace, in a way he wants Aunt May’s hugs; despite her being the scariest person ever, now that Peter feels more comfortable in her presence… there is something easy in her, something weirdly parental and comforting.

Without thinking, Peter lowers the sandwich to the ground between them, and leans forward to bury his head into her shoulder. Her arms come up to cradle him, her grip strong and unrelenting, and Peter can feel himself shake against her unwavering form.

“Nat, he’s— h-he’s— I shouldn’t… shouldn’t _feel _like, like this, but he— he’s like a— it’s like, I got Aunt May, and she’s the best, but she’s not… after, after my Uncle, there was always something missing, until— Mr. S-Stark—" he chokes, and Natasha makes a shushing sound, holding him tighter. “It’s _stupid,_ I s-shouldn’t— b-but I can’t _stop_ thinking about him like _that,_ like he’s a, a _d-dad_ of, of a sort—"

“I know, Peter,” she murmurs, and yeah, of _course _she knows. Creepy secret-reading eye contact. “It’s alright.”

“I don’t want to _lose_ him.”

“You won’t. We’ll get him back.”

Peter closes his eyes against, exhausted and feeling raw with the loss, and wills himself to believe her words.

* * *

Steve thought he had imagined all possible scenarios for he and Tony’s reunion. Turns out he was wrong; badly, badly wrong.

Never did a scenario like this even cross his mind. Maybe he’s a bit too optimistic; maybe he hasn’t even considered that someone could get their hands on Tony, who is the definition of “stubbornly capable”.

He watches Spider-Man and Nat leave the hall that once served as a S.H.I.E.L.D. base to go eat in the Quinjet, the kid’s movements jumpy and abrupt, his body filled with restless energy. Steve is not sure whether it stems from his young age, or his advanced physics and senses.

“A real jerk, isn’t he?” Sam’s voice pipes up once the door closes behind Spider-Man, but there’s no real heat in it.

Steve sighs nonetheless; he’s well used to Sam’s brusque way of talking (because Steve can be much, much worse himself) but Spider-Man is clearly young, and emotionally compromised. Granted, he somehow doesn’t seem to mind Sam’s blatant dislike of him and brushes it off better than most, but Steve still feels like he should put a stop to it.

He won’t admit it, but Spider-Man breaking down yesterday made something quiver deep in him; he _knows_ that feeling, that grief the young man so clearly displayed. It reminds him of Bucky, of the wound that hasn’t yet healed, despite his friend being _safe._

“Come on, Sam,” Wanda says. “He’s a child.”

“A child that can punch Bucky into the next dimension? Oh, and don’t forget, _me??"_

“I think he’s cute.”

“For a five-year old, maybe—”

“Sam,” Steve sighs again; two sighs in a row, that should shut Sam up.

It doesn’t. Instead the man curls his lip at him, his expression morphing into a grimace of discomfort.

Steve knows how to read him — they all do, aside from Spider-Man. Sam _is_ shaken by the kid, by his skill of just bursting into a ramble that _should_ be boring but just makes him seem earnest and… endearing. Not to mention that on top of managing to straight-up acknowledge him having been right (something that makes the kid a bigger man than himself, for starters), Spider-Man went onto telling him that his hatred of him is justified, and that his wings are great.

All of it in the same breath.

Steve wonders if one of Spider-Man’s superpowers is his unlikely charm. It would explain why Nat, who is often wary of new people for a long time, seems to be on his side — despite apparently only having met him yesterday.

He also wonders if Spider-Man’s devotion to Tony is only one-sided. He can guess how much Tony would enjoy the kid’s stream of words and would love to be pointing him in the right direction — since some sort of a mentor-mentee-relationship seems to be going on there, but aside from that… Well, it’s obvious Tony means a _lot_ to Spider-Man. But does it go both ways?

Steve sees bit of too many parallels between Spider-Man’s devotion to Tony, and his own to Bucky. So, he understands.

He doesn’t wish for the kid to go through the same pain he has. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

“Alright. So maybe he’s not the _worst,”_ Sam grumbles. “He likes my wings.”

“I like him,” Wanda repeats, and then looks at Steve, searching for his opinion.

Steve sighs. Again.

“He’s a good kid,” he says. “A fellow New Yorker.”

“Of course he’ll use that to get in Cap’s good grades.”

Sam hits a couple of keys, eyes swiping over the information for the radars they have installed near all HYDRA bases they’ve found over the last two years. Taking down the bases is challenging and risky work, especially since they don’t have the tech support from Tony, nor the heavy muscle of Hulk, Thor, or Iron Man anymore. So they monitor the bases, destroy them one-by-one, but new ones keep popping up. Not to mention the situation in the rest of the world.

The radars aren’t much, but they tell if there is increased activity in transmissions to and from the base. If a base has high data transfer, it is more likely to be important than one with none.

So far, HYDRA hasn’t caught them, but Steve fears it’s only a matter of time. But it’s all they, _he _can do now, working in the shadows, for the good of the people.

“How do the radars look?” he asks, deciding to ignore Sam’s complaints about Spider-Man. He stands by what he’s said; that kid — he has a good heart. A lot of potential. And he knows Sam sees it as well.

(Besides, Sam is just jealous _he_ can’t crawl on ceilings, Steve bets.)

He wonders how clearly Tony sees that potential. He _must,_ otherwise he wouldn’t have picked the kid up in first place. Right?

“Getting preliminary data, it’s going a bit slow for some reason — uh, one in Idaho has stopped responding, and Utah bases are both high on chitchatting. They’ve both increased the activity three weeks ago — we might wanna check on them.”

“Put them on the list,” Steve sits down on his sleeping bag. Pressing his fingers against his face, he rubs at his temples and suppresses a tired groan. They’ve all been awake since Nat’s message yesterday.

When he opens his eyes, he sees that Sam has gone unnaturally still. Wanda is watching him, her forehead creased in a cautious frown.

“This…” Sam swallows, and Steve gets back to his feet, moving around him to see the full results of the radars himself.

Oh God.

“That’s… that’s bad,” Steve says, voice barely above a breath. Sam nods stiffly, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“What’s bad?” Wanda scrambles up to her feet, and also hurries around Sam to hover above his shoulder.

“Oh,” she lets out a small noise, her body tensing, and Steve sees from the corner of his eye how her fingers twitch, something red flickering around them. “That’s a lot of activity.”

“It’s like they’re a bunch of grannies during a knitting competition,” Sam mutters, and for a moment Steve is at a complete loss — because that… that is a _lot_ of activity.

The U.S. map shows the activity of the bases as colored spots; the more there is red, the more data flows out of the HYDRA facility. And right now, as all their trackers have finished sending their gathered information onto the laptop...

It’s all red. 

“We’re never going to find him,” Wanda says softly, voicing a thought that’s flickering in Steve’s mind; but he’d never say it out loud, wouldn’t give in to the thought. He never gave up with Buck, not after having learned of the man being still alive. And he’s not going to give up with Tony either, no matter how… how worrying the amount of data on the screen is.

“What are we gonna tell the kid?” Sam asks quietly, because for all his posture and dislike, he recognizes Spider-Man as a young man hurting, and hurting bad, and Sam doesn’t take pleasure in the pain of others.

Steve’s jaw clenches; he doesn’t know. He tries to imagine it was him, and that they were still looking for Bucky — but he would take the response in his stride, not letting it slow him down but turning it into a source of determination, and he would take the bases apart one-by-one until he found a clue taking him closer.

Spider-Man doesn’t have Steve’s experience, that much is clear. And as such his reaction will most likely be… less of a hands-on approach, and more… well, he’s probably not going to take it as well as Steve would.

Steve shakes his head slowly to clear his head and his mixed, churning emotions. Spider-Man is a kid, and now part of the operation, part of the team. He’s Steve’s responsibility (although Nat would probably disagree, claiming “dibs” on Tony’s… protégé?) while they’re out here. He can’t possibly let the kid down, especially not when it hits so close to his former situation with Bucky.

He already knows he’ll destroy the bases one-by-one, if it’s the only way to save Tony. And he guesses he would do it even without an obligation to Spider-Man; there’s no way he’s letting HYDRA try their hand at using _Tony. _Ultron was something bad enough, and even though they cleared the situation up, even though Steve _knows_ now it wasn’t Tony’s fault _per se…_ He can’t even imagine what horrors the man is capable of unleashing into the world if he wanted to.

Or if he was forced to. Which, for Tony, would be worse.

Steve _does_ believe the same as Nat; Tony will break himself out eventually, even if it’s the last thing he does. There is no prison capable of holding him in for long, and Steve places his trust on that fact. If they fail — if _Steve_ fails, then Tony will take care of the job. He always does in the end, one way or another.

But it shouldn’t come to that. Steve would never leave a man in trouble for any time longer than necessary, and leaving Tony with HYDRA…

He can’t suppress the shivery chill that runs down his back. Having already had one friend in this position before — well, he’s doing everything in his power to prevent another fate like Bucky’s.

“Cap?” Sam’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he raises his head to meet the man’s gaze.

“We’ll tell him the truth. He seems like a bright kid — he’d know immediately that something is wrong.”

“You just praise him and praise him,” Sam mutters, but there’s no heat in his voice anymore.

“It’ll hit him hard,” Wanda’s voice pipes up. “His emotions are already in turmoil.”

“You read his mind?” Sam sounds surprisingly defensive.

“His feelings… pour over. He is very… emotionally explosive.”

Both Steve and Sam give her a sharp look out of worry, since exploding emotions usually don’t mean anything good in their line of work, but Wanda waves a placating hand in the air.

“In a good way. In a… normal way. As I said, he’s charming. I like him.”

“Even though he’s one of Stark’s?" Sam raises an eyebrow, not looking very impressed, and Wanda’s gaze drills into him seconds later.

“I am capable of having several opinions. I might not like Stark too much, but I can’t deny a child in need. And I _can_ forgive Stark as well. I _have._ We have all been played by bigger forces.”

“Bold assumptions that it wasn’t just him being his usual assholy self,” Sam starts tapping away on the laptop and Steve turns away from the two of them. This subject is not a new one, although Wanda seems much more empathetic towards Tony than before — not that she would’ve been too hostile in the past either, not for at least a year now. And the part about forgiving Tony is a new one.

It is a good thing; she seems calmer and more balanced without that hatred in her.

Sam, on the other hand, hangs onto his blatant dislike for Tony with both hands. Not that Steve has really _tried_ getting him to let go, not wanting to spend his energy on that. Hell, Sam didn’t like Tony much even when they were all on the same side — but Steve puts that down to them never spending that much time together.

“From what I have interacted with him, between Ultron and the Accords, he is actually pretty sympathetic,” Wanda’s tone has gone freezing, and Steve wonders how much of her inarguably sudden new stance has to do with Spider-Man. He isn’t going to ask, but he does wonder what it is that she knows about the kid.

Namely that _she_ thinks he’s a kid too; given her age… that must mean that Spider-Man is ridiculously young. 19? 20? That would mean that he was… well, awfully young when in Berlin, even if he was in his early twenties now.

Steve has to respect the guy’s guts, because the kid sure has them.

“Since when do _you _defend Stark?? Tony Stark? That fucker? The name ring a bell?” Sam sounds incredulous, the sound of him typing stopping abruptly.

Steve goes to sit down on his bedroll and puts his head in his hands. They’re going to need to comb through the data they have, compare each base’s transmission information to the others, try to determine where it is that Tony is held… given, of course, that he is still in the States, which is the most crucial thing, time-wise… It’s going to take days at the very least, and it’s only then that they can start planning the actual rescue mission—

“I’m _not_ defending his past actions! But I can’t say anymore that he is a bad man, and you _know_ he isn’t too! You should be more understanding, Spider-Man is—”

“Oh, so it _is _him that caused this? Watch out, you’ll be changing his diapers soon—”

“He is distraught! He is— he is _grieving, _and he’s _young—” _

“Gets everybody’s affections, does our Spidey? You seen how Nat eats out of his palm? _Nat?? _That shit is shady, man, the dude has some damn manipulative magic hidden in his spandex, and y’all are _blind _to it—”

Just as Steve is about to open his mouth, because Sam _is _going way too far, just out of a spiteful principle, the door opens. They all tense instinctively and it is only when Nat appears, her hand squeezing Spider-Man’s shoulder that Steve relaxes, only for his body to stiffen again as he realizes what’s going to happen next.

He doesn’t want to see how the news affect the kid. Sam is partly right; there _is _something in Spider-Man that has all of Steve’s protective senses _screaming,_ now that they’ve exchanged a couple of words.

Oh God. It has to be him delivering the news, hasn’t it?

“Hiya!” Spider-Man more or less chirps, but there’s a dull note to his voice that tells more than his supposedly cheerful tone. “Those showers in Quinjets are _awesome_ — I thought it a bit weird to have them and I kinda had an argument with Mr. Stark about it one time, but now I’m totally on board with them — he’s such a _genius, _I’m so glad I don’t have to stink like a _pig—” _

He rambles on and on in what Steve has to admit is an admirable way. This time the ramblings seem a little forced though, and he recognizes them as what they are; a coping mechanism. The corners of Nat’s eyes are a little too tight as well, and Steve wonders what exactly happened in the Quinjet. Would Wanda have felt Spider-Man’s emotions all the way from there?

They all stay quiet, until Spider-Man’s voice starts fading away before picking up again, this time sounding much more natural.

“You… everything okay? You’re a bit— sorry for saying, Captain, Steve, but your face looks a little funny — like this one guy that somehow turned into a walrus and used it to rob banks, please don’t ask how he thought it’d be easier as a walrus, I didn’t get an answer since he was a, er, walrus at the time, and that’s— uh, that’s what his face looked like just before it started bloating, like all this _mass_ coming out, and there were these _teeth,_ um… not that I think you’re going to turn into a walrus, Cap, Steve, uh, sir, but… your… maybe— maybe it’s just the beard, I—”

“Spider-Man,” Wanda says, and her voice is gentle. It seems that she is going to take the brunt of telling the news, and Steve is glad she’s taking the initiative; he’s not sure he can, not after everything he had just heard. He needs a moment to gather himself, which in itself is a little embarrassing, and not something he would usually allow himself.

Besides… he wouldn’t know how to be sensitive enough. He’s never been that good with words, not when it comes to stuff like this — and Wanda seems to have a better understanding of the kid’s emotions.

Frankly, Steve thinks the boy has suffered enough already. Wanda might just be the best person when it comes to delivering the news.

“There’s something we need to tell you. Come here.”

She motions for him, and Steve doesn’t miss the glance Spider-Man shares with Nat, who just nods at him.

Spider-Man trudges over the floor to where Wanda is, who then wraps determined fingers around his wrist, tugging him further away, but not out of sight. Sam pretends to be looking at the computer, and Nat comes over to sit down next to Steve.

“Bad?" she murmurs, her eyes never leaving Spider-Man’s form, her gaze sharp and strangely protective.

Steve sighs and nods, knowing she can see it from the corner of her eye. Wanda has leaned forward to look at Spider-Man in the eyes as she speaks, her voice so soft and quiet even Steve can’t hear what she says.

“Very,” he says quietly, just as Wanda wraps her arms around Spider-Man, who seconds later starts shaking.

* * *

Peter follows Ms. Maximoff with his heart thrumming in his throat. It almost feels like his Spidey sense should be screaming at him, that there should be danger here somewhere, because everyone is being so… weird. First of all, Ms. Maximoff is holding his wrist, and pulling him away from everyone else. Mr. Wilson is not looking up from the laptop, but his expression is troubled. And Steve— Steve seriously looks like that one walrus-man — like his face is about to bloat and grow fangs and he feels a little nauseous because of it…

Ms. Maximoff stops by the wall, so that they’re out of the hearing range of the others. She leans forward and her expression is— it’s— it’s the one people wear _just_ before they deliver some terrible news—

“We have the full results of the transmission data from the bases,” she says, softly, holding his eye contact. Peter doesn’t dare to breathe.

“They’re all active.”

Her words punch him straight into the gut.

“But that—” his voice is feeble, and he feels terrible, _terrible,_ just like when he realized what F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s lack of data meant.

Ms. Maximoff reaches out gently and pulls him into a hug, her small frame somehow encompassing all of Peter’s, and Peter starts trembling, his fingers finding her jacket to hold onto.

“It will take us days to pinpoint where he _might_ be,” she says, and even though Peter already _knew_ it, it still feels like the ground is disappearing.

He feels like he’s about to throw up, and there’s no way he’s doing that over Ms. Maximoff’s shoulder.

He tries pushing her away, but she shushes him, her hold of him tightening.

“It’ll be alright.” Her tone is soothing, like she knows exactly what is going through Peter’s mind — oh shit, she probably _does— _

“I— I think I’m going to throw up,” Peter says, voice high and panicky, his shaking having increased. Oh God, this can’t be happening— it _can’t be happening,_ they’re never, _never_ going to find Mr. Stark—

“Come on, come down with me,” Ms. Maximoff says and pulls away slightly, just to tug at Peter’s arms and guide him down to sit side-by-side, their backs against the wall. “Put your head down.”

Peter does as instructed, hanging his head low and bringing his knees up to his chest, eventually leaning his forehead against them. He curls up into a literal ball, and Ms. Maximoff starts slowly stroking his back through the Spider-Man suit. Peter feels a weird sense of calmness radiate into him through that spot, and he wonders whether Ms. Maximoff is using her powers to calm him down.

He doesn’t really mind because hey, it’s the Scarlet Witch! Using her cool powers on Peter! _Magic! Awesome!_ And besides, it feels nice. Peter hasn’t been feeling nice for many days, he thinks.

It is also possible that he just needs a little comforting, and since Aunt May isn’t there, he’s sucking in all the shown affection from _anyone. _He would even be happy with Mr. Wilson punching him in the face. It’s tough love!

“Take a deep breath,” Ms. Maximoff tells him, and he does. The feeling that follows is like a lavender air freshener spreading through his body, and he takes another deep inhale, his muscles slowly starting to relax.

His shaking has subdued, thank God, but he doesn’t lift his head. Ms. Maximoff’s stroking feels…

“There,” she says, and Peter can hear a smile in her voice. “That’s better. I know it’s not easy.”

Considering what Peter knows about her, he doesn’t doubt it. It makes him feel better, knowing that she _understands._ Although… in retrospect, most of the Avengers probably do too.

“Thanks, Ms. Maximoff,” he rasps, voice hoarse and shaky. “It’s like you got magic fingers. Oh— oh, you _do!_ That is literally just so cool.”

“I wouldn’t use my powers on you,” Ms. Maximoff says. Peter lifts his head to squint at her, and she gives him a small smile, ducking her head. “Please call me Wanda. You already call Nat and Steve by their names.”

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Peter tries for a wobbly smile that doesn’t make it through the mask (nor his voice), but his voice lacks all enthusiasm and usual gushing over that amazing fact.

It’ll take them days to find the place where Mr. Stark is _possibly_ kept. _Days._ Maybe even longer— what if it takes _weeks?_ What if—

He’s started shaking again, and Wanda’s (hey, that was surprisingly _easy._ Maybe it’s because she seems so young, compared to the others) expression twists into sadness and sympathy. Her hand, having momentarily stilled on Peter’s back, continues the soft stroking.

“We’ll get him back,” she says, an undercurrent of urgency in her tone. “He’ll be _fine. _Stark is _too_ stubborn to be kept down.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think you’d… you’d be on his side,” Peter admits feebly, wrapping his arms around his knees. He doesn’t know what compels him to say those words. A need for confirmation that the Scarlet Witch is with them on this mission? His usual incapability of not blurting out any and all thoughts? Fear and hesitation?

Wanda sighs and shakes her head faintly.

“In this, we’re all on his side.”

Peter shoots a questioning glance towards Mr. Wilson, and Wanda’s mouth twists into a small smile she doesn’t seem capable of suppressing.

“Sam is all snark without the bite. He is… We all know Stark is a man who does his best to protect the world. I-I know that, now. And Sam admires him, which is why he holds a grudge. It is hard, being betrayed by a man he respects.”

Peter is quiet, and then quite consciously decides to tackle that particular thread of discussion. Anything to keep his mind off from… what is happening right now.

“I— I don’t— Mr. Stark feels _you _guys betrayed _him,”_ he stutters, looking up at Wanda with his eye slits wide and earnest.

To his surprise, Wanda’s expression becomes sad again, and she slumps against the wall with a small exhale escaping her lungs.

“It is… it is very complicated. See, I used to despise him,” she says, her eyes roaming around the room absentmindedly. Peter glances that way as well, sees Natasha and Steve in deep discussion, while Sam is rubbing an exasperated hand on his head, still staring at the laptop. He looks exhausted — they all do.

Peter feels bad. He would feel guilty for dragging the Avengers into this mess if it literally wasn’t his last line of hope.

“I thought he was different. And when I joined the Avengers, he once sat down with me and told… he said that it’s fine if I hate him, if it is what keeps me going. He also apologized for my brother, and for my family. And I could… I knew he was being sincere.” Wanda’s eyes flick down to her free hand, and her fingers shift slightly, as if mimicking the movements she usually does while using her magic. Her left hand on Peter’s back hasn’t budged, which Peter is thankful for.

“It took me a while. A long while.” She looks up and meets Peter’s eyes, her expression gentle. “But I started forgiving him. And just as I did, the Accords came along. He didn’t tell us about them before it was too late. I know now that he didn’t want to worry us — he probably thought he could stop them from happening, working on them behind our backs, but at that time… I was angry. I felt betrayed. I didn’t understand him. But now… I see he was doing what he thought was best. I can’t hold it against him, not anymore.”

“And Mr. Wilson…” Peter glances at Mr. Wilson again.

“I think that at the moment, he’s just being petty for childish reasons,” Wanda tells him firmly. “It is just a surface. See, he’s working hard.”

Peter nods slowly before resting his chin on his updrawn knees. His gaze lands back on Natasha and Steve, and as the discussion between him and Wanda comes to a lull, his eyes start burning.

God, he _can’t_ possibly be crying again — he’s already done that today, no, eyes, what are you _doing??_

“You all say you’ll get him back,” he sniffles, his gut tightening unpleasantly. “H-how can you be so _sure?”_

Wanda’s fingers ghost over his spine, tender and understanding.

“I know how terrible you feel,” she says. “I _know_ how it feels. But don’t give up on hope, Spider-Man. We’ll find him.”

“P-Peter,” Peter sniffs, turning to look at her. He’s pretty sure the mask somehow manages to transfer his miserable expression, because Wanda’s face softens, a small, almost affectionate smile appearing on her lips. “That’s m-my name. Feels stupid having you, you call me Spider-Man, it’s like, so formal, it’s weird, but, but _don’t _tell the others. It’s, it’s like, a secret identity thing, and I’m kinda, not supposed to share it, but you— you’re, I think it’s okay if you know.”

“Peter. I like it,” she murmurs, runs her hand up towards Peter’s neck, swiping her fingers against his cheek. “Reminds me of someone important.”

“A-a-a good thing?”

Wanda’s lips stretch into a wide, beautiful smile that still can’t hide the gentle wistfulness in her eyes.

“Very.”

They succumb into silence that lasts for a long time. Peter thinks about the things Wanda has said; wonders about whether Mr. Wilson is going to hate him for the rest of his life; wonders whether he is ever going to see Mr. Stark again (but no, he won’t go there, because then he won’t be able to calm himself down, Wanda’s strange non-magic finger-calming abilities be screwed). He thinks what it means that all the bases are so active — they must be contacting each other because of Mr. Stark. It’s the only explanation, but as such… There should be one base that started all of it, the one that was the first to send the message “we have him”. But is it possible to find out that information? How far back does the transmission data go?

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Wanda’s voice breaks through the haze he’s fallen into, and he looks up again, meets her gaze. He wishes he could take off the mask, to really look at her and let _her_ look at _him,_ because this just feels impolite and like he’s only half there for the discussion, but at the same time he knows he has to protect his identity. It’s the one thing (or, one of the one things) Mr. Stark has really drilled into him; it’s apparently enough that Aunt May and Ned know, and the more people find out, the more he and the people close to him are in danger.

He knows he wouldn’t really have to protect his identity from the Avengers, but… it’s a matter of _principle,_ okay?? At the same time he fears what they’ll say about his age. Sure, he might not be _fourteen_ anymore, but sixteen isn’t much better (although for Peter, it makes all the difference). He can easily be branded as “too young” to be Spider-Man. Wasn’t that one of Mr. Stark’s biggest issues as well, back when he recruited Peter? He seems to be okay with it now, although he does have pretty strong helicopter parent tendencies — the same as Aunt May. The two, when they occasionally get together, become a terrifying force of keeping Peter out of trouble. Not that they succeed very often, and that is why the suit exists.

(Now, after _numerous_ and _endless_ lectures on how Peter needs to stay safe, and how all the features in his suit are meant to be for _safety _rather than control, and that Peter “_can’t break into the darn suit, what were you **thinking**?? F.R.I.D.A.Y., remind me to give Fed a job when he’s older”,_ Peter supposes a couple of trackers in his guts are valid, even if it does sound borderline creepy to any outsiders. But Mr. Stark wants to _protect _him (and now he failed, he thinks Peter is _dead,_ _he thinks Peter is dead—) _and as such Peter is quite fine with the man knowing where he is at all times.

It makes him feel safer, too.)

(Mr. Stark doesn’t know where Peter is now, though. Just as Peter doesn’t know where he is. Of all the terrible situations, this is the _worst.)_

He ponders at Wanda’s question, not sure what he should say — or if he should say anything at all. Is he giving away information Mr. Stark would never want in the hands of Steve and his lot?

But maybe… He thinks Wanda will understand what he’s… what he feels, and he needs that. He needs to tell _someone,_ and Aunt May is out of the question right now — and he would never say a word about this to Mr. Stark, ha, no _way._ Ned knows already, but Peter can’t contact him, just in case he could be tracked that way. Out of everyone in this room now, Wanda seems the most sympathetic, and on top of that she kinda reads minds and emotions, which, handy. Natasha is great and everything, but she… she _is a bit too scary_ for him to go into the details, and Peter isn’t afraid to acknowledge it.

(Besides, she probably knows everything already, and there’s no point in telling her about it if she’s already familiar with Peter’s life story.)

“The… the whole, uh, thing with him is, uh. Well, um, see, my— my parents died when I was little,” he says, and Wanda’s expression already shifts; he knows her story — okay, good, he got this, Wanda will _understand,_ she knows what a loss like that feels like. “I, I don’t really remember them, and it’s— it’s okay, I’m used to it—”

The expression on Wanda’s face is the same as pretty much everyone’s when he says those words. _You should not have to be used to that_ echoes wordlessly in the air, and Peter fights a grimace. Really, the loss of his parents is a norm, not something he spends his time actively thinking of. No, his memory of them is hazy at best, and as such it’s easier to draw the line, to not feel like a huge chunk of him is missing in some way…

It did feel like that when Uncle Ben died — and eventually Mr. Stark came and slowly but steadily filled that chunk, became something _more._

“And, um, I lived with my Aunt and Uncle and they were like my substitute parents, but, but…” He sighs. “My— my Uncle died in the, remember when the, uh, the aliens attacked New York.”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says quietly, and Peter knows she means it. Her hand settles comfortingly against his shoulder, and he relishes in the touch.

“He’d—” Peter hesitates, and it’s still— it still stings, after all these years— “I was— I was like, uh, um, younnngg-er than what I am now? By five years-ish? You know how time works? And, uh, I was at school when the attack started, and, and I called him, ‘cos I was scared, and he said he’d come and get me— and he was, he… he never came.”

He brings up a hand reflexively to wipe at his nose, even though the action is useless with the mask on. He sniffs.

“It was, um, it was chunks of a building falling on him, from, y’know, a space walrus flying above and destroying stuff,” he says, his voice not wavering as hard as it would’ve a few years ago. He takes a deep breath, biting his lip as he gathers his thoughts.

“He— you know how— I, I blamed myself for years, ‘cos, y’know, my school wasn’t even that near the attack, and his workplace wasn’t either, but he— he had to kinda get closer to the main attack zone to get to me, and— I thought, well, uh, for years, that I, that I’d, um, that if I hadn’t called, he would’ve— he would still be alive— but, but!” Peter backtracks quickly when Wanda opens her mouth and he can sense a tirade of “that was nowhere near being your fault” coming, which he’s heard many a time by now, both from May and Mr. Stark.

“But I know it now! It’s just, it was hard at the time, ‘cos I was literally like, a child, and I didn’t have the right perspective, but it’s been five years, and I’ve had time to look back at it without, without being, um, totally sad, so, so it’s fine, like, as fine as it’ll ever be, so I don’t blame myself anymore, but…”

Wanda closes her mouth, her expression continuing to be most sympathetic. Peter draws in a deep breath. Wow, he just can’t escape these heavy emotions in these days, can he? Then again, there’s not a chance he’d somehow incidentally feel any _heavier,_ because Mr. Stark has already been taken from him, and he’s already doing his fair share of moping around that fact. So really, a little bit more gloomy and moody doesn’t really matter.

“The thing, the _thing _is, Ben was my, see, he was my Uncle, but a sort of a father-figure at the same time? And I, I lost him. Too. Um. And it— it was awful, ‘cos it left this… this _hole,_ and, and, it didn’t, it didn’t… it didn’t entirely get better until I met Mr. Stark.”

“So not just a co-worker?” Wanda offers a smile, open and kind, and Peter echoes it hesitantly on his own face before remembering he’s still wearing the mask.

“O-o-oh, n-no, I wouldn’t… wouldn’t, uh, define him as… H-he’s, see… he’s _so…_ It’s— it’s _stupid,_ how I f-feel about— what he’s— what he means. To me,” he confesses, voice becoming quieter, hoarser. He thinks, maybe he can say it, because he already did tell Natasha, didn’t he? And it feels like the words need to come out, like he really, _really_ needs to make Wanda see.

He pushes the words out through his stutter, forcing them out with sheer willpower.

“This, this _piece_ that was missing — it’s _stupid,_ and I _shouldn’t_ but he— Mr. Stark, he— I think of him like a… he’s a, like a… _shit._ L-like a _d-dad_ now. _Ish.”_

For some weird reason he feels ashamed the moment it leaves his mouth, and he shrinks into himself, slight tremors rocking his spine.

God, he did go and say it out loud, just like _that. _He would applaud himself if he didn’t feel so utterly miserable.

“And now,” Wanda says softly, “you fear losing him too.”

“This _sucks._ _So much,” _Peter mutters before nodding. “Yeah. I— I don’t think I can take it, if he doesn’t come back. It’s like, strike out three father-figures, uh, that’s when it starts getting really, really shitty.”

There’s a moment of silence. Wanda looks like she’s considering him, her eyebrows softly pulled up, the smallest crease appearing above them.

“What is it like, then?” she speaks after a while. Her tone doesn’t change; it’s compassionate and gentle, this moment shared only by the two of them without anyone else interfering. Peter knows that whatever he says now, Wanda won’t spill. “What is he like? With you? I’d like to hear.”

“Oh, he’s like, the _worst_ helicopter parent ever,” Peter blurts immediately. “I mean, to be fair, I’m a right pain in the ass, I’m constantly making him worry, and he’s like, given me _so_ many rules, and then when I break them, he gives me these _lectures,_ but I think he knows I’m trying my best — and by the way, I’m _really not_ looking forward to the lecture I’m gonna get after _this,_ ‘cos I’m already breaking the rules, like, er, _‘Don’t mingle with criminals’, _and _‘Don’t leave New York’,_ _‘Don’t, for God’s sake, get into a plane’,_ ‘cos the last time was a bit of a catastrophe — and, and, uh, it’s not in any rules, but I think that I’m supposed to yeet Cap as far as possible if I happen to see him, and then there’s the _‘Don’t reveal your identity’_ which I kinda did when I told you my name, and Natasha knows who I am — which wasn’t my fault, she’s just _scary_ like that! And uh, I’m pretty sure _‘Don’t eat sandwiches made by the Scarlet Witch’_ is somewhere on the list as well. I’m gonna be _so dead.”_

Wanda blinks at him, and all of a sudden she’s laughing. It’s a pretty sound, and Peter feels his stomach whoop. Oh God. Is he developing _another_ crush?? This is getting ridiculous. His hormones need to _chill._

“He, he tends to say that, rule number one is _‘Mr. Stark is always right’_ and rule number two is _‘if Mr. Stark is wrong, refer to rule number one,”_ he explains. “Then again, the other time he said that number one is to not mingle with criminals, and then the other time it was _‘if you get shot, REPORT IT’,_ so I guess it’s all relative to the situation at hand — maybe _‘Mr. Stark is always right’ _is like, like, the base rule — number zero—? Or the others are one point one, one point two— I, I gotta, gotta look into it, I’ll look into it—”

Wanda laughs more, the sound bubbling unhinged from her mouth, and Peter is seriously getting heart eyes over here. Oh _no._

“It’s… not an impossible thought, imagining him like that. He was always more than what most people thought, which I know from my own experience… At least he seems to care about you a lot,” Wanda says after her laughter has subdued, but her eyes keep sparkling with amusement.

Peter swallows, turning his head away.

“Oh, uh, no, I, I really don’t know about that,” he says but hesitates this time, since hasn’t everyone made that observation so far — everyone but, uh, Peter and Mr. Stark?

Does that mean it could actually be _true?_

Peter doesn’t dare to hope.

“Don’t be stupid,” Wanda scoffs, her tone still light. She seems younger all of a sudden, and Peter feels for a moment like she’s interacting with someone else — the tone of her voice indicates that that sentence has been said a _lot._ It’s a bit like Mr. Stark when he calls Peter _“Underoos”,_ with that fond undercurrent in his voice and a twinkle in the corner of his eye, a crooked smile on his face.

Peter suddenly misses him so much it aches.

“I— I just don’t think— I mean, I’m just a fun little side project,” he offers the same explanation he told Natasha, one that he’s repeated to himself over and over again and shrinks under Wanda’s scrutinizing eyebrow.

“I don’t believe that.”

“All I do is give him gray hair! That’s a _fact _— Rhodey told me he keeps whining about it—”

_“That_ is definitely a sign of caring,” Wanda gives him a full smile, her white teeth sparkling when light hits them. Ohh. Pretty.

Peter grumbles, pressing his face against his knees. Of _course_ he knows that Mr. Stark cares on _some _level, the whole _suit_ is him caring about Peter — the lectures are him caring, him worrying is caring, him—

_“I’ll do anything. Just let him—”_

Mr. Stark… Mr. Stark cares about everyone. He has one of the kindest hearts Peter has ever known, even though the man does his best to hide it behind snark and sarcasm. But he’s been Iron Man for— for almost a _decade,_ and he doesn’t do it for glory. Peter has seen it in the workshop, how Mr. Stark hammers away with his projects, always improving the armor, always manufacturing new ways to _protect._

_(“The armor is not a weapon,” _Mr. Stark said, working on holographic schematics while sucking on a milkshake Peter had brought in as requested alongside a McDonald’s meal. Upon arriving at the Compound for the weekend he had found the man poking at something that turned out to be a _“perfected miniaturized missile launcher, on my to-do list since 2014, but y’know, time”,_ meant to replace the one already in the armor.

_“An **armor** can not be a weapon. Literally, look up the word. It’s meant for protection. Without my weapons I can still stand in front of people and deflect whatever comes at them — but by weaponizing the armor I can make counterattacks, I can actually take care of the threat. And I do it to protect people. Besides, if I counted it as a weapon, Ross would snatch it from my hands faster than I can say— U! Stay away from that!” _

_“Deep,”_ Peter, sitting on a stool next to Mr. Stark, said before pushing a handful of disgustingly lukewarm and soft fries into his mouth. Meanwhile U proceeded to crash into a stack of papers, pulling out a hearty groan from Mr. Stark and a snicker from Peter.)

_(“Hey, do you think my suit should have some weapons too, then, so that I can protect more people?”_

_“...The only way my nightmares could get worse is from you swinging around with a missile launcher on your shoulder. Nope.”_

_“So I’ll just keep throwing trash cans at the bad guys? Hey, hey, can you imagine like a, a **trash can launcher** on my shoulder? Man, that’d be so **cool**—”_

_“Lord help me.”_

_“Would make swinging a bit more difficult, though… Hey Mr. Stark, are you gonna eat those fries?”_

_“These earthworms? Have at ‘em, kid.”)_

Mr. Stark cares about everyone, so of course he cares about Peter. But what the others are saying is that Mr. Stark cares about him _more_ than he’d care about just anyone. And Peter— Peter is having a hard time believing that. Because if he lets himself believe so, and then it isn’t true… that’d be way too hard a blow. So maybe he’s protecting himself by not believing it.

(And why would Mr. Stark care about someone like him? _Mr. Stark??_ The _genius_ that he is? Why would he care about someone like… like Peter, who talks too much for his own good, is awkward and clumsy and a real nerd? Granted, Mr. Stark is the biggest nerd, like, actually, honestly a nerdiest nerd embodied, but he’s a _cool nerd._ What on earth is there to gain for Mr. Stark in his relationship with Peter? Other than the ice cream sessions, of course. But he could be having those with anyone else too, so why… why _Peter—)_

“I think… I think I’m afraid that he really does care,” Peter says hesitating, so quietly that Wanda has to lean forward, her whole forearm pressing against his back in a half-hug. “And then I can’t live up to the expectations. Oh, shit,” he chokes, shaking his head faintly. “I finally understand now what everyone means when they say they don’t wanna disappoint their dads. It, it was never this bad with my, my uncle, but I was— I didn’t make so many _mistakes_ back then—”

“Oh, Peter,” Wanda sighs, and his name feels strange coming from her. Goodbye, secret identity! It was nice knowing you. “I can personally kick his ass when we rescue him, if he shows even a little bit of disappointment.”

Peter wonders how Mr. Stark is going to react upon meeting him. He thinks Peter is dead after all, which can’t be nice, no matter how insignificant Peter is — might be — to him.

If he _didn’t _care about Peter, it’d probably be easier to deal with the thought.

God, at this moment, Peter wishes it is so. Because fearing someone important to you is dead… well, it’s absolutely terrible, 0/5, would _not_ recommend.

“Maybe if we kick Nazi ass first,” he says. “‘Cos I really wanna punch ‘em in the face.”

Wanda smiles.

“I think I can work with that.”

* * *

As analyzing the transmission data doesn’t give any results and the days inch forward with the speed of a snail, Steve is starting to feel like putting a bullet through someone’s head. Not sure _which_ head — a Nazi one or his own aching left temple — but a head nonetheless. He’s always hated waiting like this — Tony is out there somewhere, in the hands of Steve’s archenemy, every hour could be the hour between life and death, and what is Steve doing? Sitting on a bedroll and staring at a bulk of dates and data amounts, trying to figure out whether there is a base that appears more important than others. Some bases, bigger ones, _have_ more activity in the transmission lines, but there’s none that could be separated from the others as being more significant.

How can it _be_ like this? Fine, the bases are constantly trading information, and the timeline of Tony’s disappearance matches with the peak in the data — so, that would be a cry of “we have him”, another proof that it _is_ HYDRA — but why isn’t there one with a larger data amount? _Why why why—_

So, Steve is ready to shoot someone in the brain. He _really_ hopes it ends up not being his own, even though the thought is tempting. He thought headaches where a thing of the past, once, but it seems even the serum can’t protect him from this massive migraine that has bothered him for the past day and a half.

He’s not the only one who’s been having a hard time, though. The days have really taken a toll on the kid. He is (literally) climbing the walls, and Steve’s not sure whether he’s slept at all during these three days — he knows _he _hasn’t. Spider-Man has been switching between mulling in some corner on his own and hovering behind their backs restlessly with a stream of words and questions, and while Steve finds him endearing and interesting and gladly joins a conversation with him, he’d prefer if the kid didn’t have a reason for doing either of those things. Steve knows coping mechanisms well, and it’s evident that for the kid, talking is the most important one.

The grief, fear, and impatience are in the heavy undercurrent of his tone, in the forced cheer that more often than not fails, in his tense posture. The more hours pass, the more the kid curls into himself, and Steve finds himself wondering occasionally what exactly does Tony mean to the kid — a lot, that is apparent, but…

He feels like Wanda and Nat know. Not to sound like he’s putting it on the shoulders of the women specifically, but those two are definitely turning into some sort of mother-hens — or as much as someone with toughness that deep in their skin can.

It’s been five days since Nat and the kid arrived, and Steve is really, really going to get that gun soon, if something doesn’t happen.

“We need to do something,” he says after having purposefully strode over to the bedrolls where the other three are sitting. Wanda is leaning back, supporting her weight on her hands, head tilted back and eyes closed, and Nat and Sam are staring at their laptops with blurry eyes. They all look exhausted, which Steve can feel deep in his bones. It’s been a long few days.

“That much is evident,” Nat says and lifts her gaze. There’s a bit of a crossed look in her eyes, frustratingly the only result of hours-long data scouring.

“We need to _do_ something,” Steve repeats, with more force, and the others let out agreeing hums. “We’re not getting anywhere like this.”

“Yeah, no, I agree with Cap,” Sam says, jabbing at a few keys before promptly closing the lid of his laptop. He looks up at Steve with a frown. “We can’t find him from here.”

“What other choice do we have?” Wanda asks quietly without changing her position, gazing at them through tired, half-lidded eyes. “Going through bases one-by-one won’t work.”

“Maybe…” Nat starts typing something, and Sam follows her screen with a blank expression, “maybe not one-by-one… But if I could get into the transmission itself…”

“You’re thinking of infiltrating a base,” Steve says, because that’s the only way Nat would be able to do that. They don’t have sufficient equipment for just dipping into HYDRA’s transmissions, so in order to do that they would have to use HYDRA’s own communication devices — ergo, be in a HYDRA base. Hmm.

“I’m thinking of taking over a base,” Nat gives a few more sharp taps at the keyboard, then turns the laptop around so that Steve can see the screen. He leans closer to peer at it. It’s all the information they have gathered on a small base situated further in the North. “We know this one is more of a storage and a safehouse than a full, functioning base, but there are still agents there, and they’ve participated in the transmissions over the last week. Between the five of us, we could take it.”

“It hasn’t been on our priority list,” Steve mumbles as his eyes flick over the data. It hasn’t been — exactly for the reasons Nat listed. They rather target important places, create havoc, and then disappear into the ground again, but…

“We could take over,” Sam says, and his tone starts getting more convinced as he continues, warming up to the idea, “and tap straight into their messages. Maybe not find out where Stark is, but at least get a _clue.”_

“It’d be more effective than what we can accomplish from here,” Nat nods, and Steve finds himself nodding along. Honestly, if they suggested just blasting into the biggest HYDRA base with guns blazing, Steve would agree to that without hesitation. He’s that well cooked up.

“When do we leave, then?” Wanda asks, and just like that, the decision is done.

They decide on the following early morning, since they’re all going to need a good night’s sleep, and some time to prepare their equipment for the upcoming mission. Steve’s blood is rushing through his veins, anticipation bubbling in his stomach, and he knows that were he alone in this, he’d already be on the way.

Instead, he opts for sitting next to Nat, who is examining her laptop. Sam has gone to check his wings, and Wanda has curled up inside her bedroll, having fallen asleep in mere minutes.

Steve watches Nat for a moment before letting his gaze slide over to where the kid is hunched upside-down in the highest corner of the room, unmoving and quiet.

“One question,” he says, and Nat raises an encouraging eyebrow without even glancing his way. “The kid said a few days back he was shot, when Tony was taken. That gonna be a problem?”

“Enhanced healing,” Nat responds, and Steve nods along. That’s what he thought, since nothing in the way Spider-Man moves has indicated a healing bullet wound. He doubts it would exactly hinder the kid in fight, but… Steve’s not sure if _anything_ is going to stop him once they get going.

“What do you think,” he asks in a quiet voice, “is his deal with Tony?”

Now, Nat looks up from her screen.

“You worried?” she asks, and Steve raises a dry eyebrow. He wouldn’t even know who to be worried _for:_ Tony, or the kid? In one hand, Tony is the kind of person who creates chaos by breathing. On the other, Steve doesn’t know much about the kid, and can’t really… can he really be _sure_ that he is one of the good? What if he just uses Tony’s influence, technology, and friendship for his own benefits?

He _knows_ it’s not so, that much is apparent, but he’s been fooled of people’s good intentions before, and he’s learnt his lesson. Thus, he needs the confirmation, and he knows he can trust Nat’s judgement, which he’s not ashamed to admit is often better than his own.

“I know you know,” he says, and Nat hums.

“You know, I’ve been following him for a while,” she says, and Steve shakes his head. “I’ve always kept an eye on Tony in case he gets himself into too much trouble.”

“What is _too_ much trouble, considering Tony?”

Nat lets out an amused huff.

“Getting kidnapped by HYDRA?” she offers, and Steve, despite himself, has to fight a smile.

“In any case, I’ve been watching him and Spidey. It... interested me, since Tony’s been… uncharacteristically involved. I’ve never seen him take anyone under his wing like that.”

“You mean under a repulsor?” Steve asks slyly, and quick as lighting Nat smacks him over the head with the bottom of her laptop.

“Ouch,” Steve deadpans and rubs at his aching temple, while Nat gives him a glare, although amusement twinkles deep in her eyes. Very, very deep.

“Another joke like that and you die, Rogers,” she says, and Steve opts for a satisfied silence — since he’s not sure whether she would really follow that threat or not.

_“In any case,”_ Nat starts examining the laptop with a frown, most likely checking whether Steve’s thick skull broke it, which then would naturally be his fault. “It was an intriguing mystery, the connection between the two of them.”

“Not anymore, then?”

“…No. Not anymore,” Nat says, her voice quieter now. “I just— Steve. Look. Promise me you won’t stop the search.”

Steve looks at her, a frown etching between his eyebrows. Nat is serious, and suddenly there is a waver in her tone, almost unnoticeable.

“We _have_ to find him, as long as it takes. We won’t stop, we can’t, even if it took _years,”_ she continues, leaning towards him with the sort of intensity in her eyes that Steve rarely sees in her, her gaze sharp and insistent as it drills into him.

Steve straightens a little, and his voice comes out with steel-like strength.

“I never leave a man behind,” he says, definitely refusing to think about Bucky, and snow, and a mistake he’s not willing to replicate, even if it kills him.

They stare at each other with tension curling in the air between them, until Nat seems satisfied with whatever she sees in his eyes.

Her body relaxes and she turns her gaze, and Steve feels his spine soften, his posture dropping.

“It’s— it’s more important than you’d think,” Nat says after a long silence, where they both stare at the floor, lost in their own thoughts. “It’s more important than what _I_ thought.”

Her eyes flick towards the kid, still perched in his spot in the ceiling corner, and Steve follows her gaze.

Ah.

* * *

Peter hates this place. He _hates _this place, this room, he’s learnt, is a part of an abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, one which is known to HYDRA. With a little reverse psychology in place it is considered as safe; no one expects Captain America to be lodging there. Cap also has radars all over the place, ones that will tell immediately if someone is approaching either the building or the Quinjet. There wouldn’t be much time for escaping, but… Steve’s lot is more of a heads-on type of people anyway, it seems.

In any case, Peter _hates_ this place. Under any other circumstances he would be absolutely fine, but now he’s frustrated, and stressed, and exhausted, and full of something that feels like grief, but is sharper than the dull ache he felt after Uncle Ben.

At least the company here is _amazing,_ even more now that Peter’s initial shock has somewhat faded. They all seem to have taken well to Peter… aside, of course, from Mr. Wilson, who instead of constantly criticizing Peter’s existence has deemed it better to just ignore it altogether. He’s still working hard though, has spent the last two days almost constantly scouring through the transmission data from the HYDRA bases in a nearly desperate way. He has only stopped for sleeping, and during that time Natasha continued his work. Peter offered to help too, but was met with a stink eye from the man, and hasn’t asked again since. He feels bad, because Mr. Wilson clearly wants to find Mr. Stark. If only to get rid of Peter — which Peter doesn’t mind! If it works as a motivator...

Peter is desperate. And jittery. And just _really needs to punch someone in the face._ He hates this. Hates it _so much. _Mr. Stark is somewhere out there and — what if he isn’t even _alive _anymore—?

He’s had further conversations with everyone except Mr. Wilson. Natasha has definitely warmed up to him now, which is a really nice thing, and also a bit scary if he thinks about it too closely. Wanda treats him fondly, and something about her gentle teasing makes Peter think she’s constantly seeing someone else in his place, or _at least_ projecting a little, which is fine with Peter; he knows all about projecting on people.

As for Steve — well, he’s Captain America, so Peter is still prone to embarrassing word vomits around him, but it’s gotten better. He now only has an 80% chance of saying something absolutely terrible, instead of 110%.

Most of the time, though, he hasn’t felt like talking at all. Instead he sulks in different corners (both on the floor and the ceiling), systematically further destroys the sleeves of his jacket, or hangs out in the Quinjet without the mask and the suit, just staring into space and thinking about Mr. Stark, thinking about how the man could already be lost to them.

Natasha is still adamant that he’ll break himself out eventually, but Peter doesn’t want to count on that. He wants to drag Mr. Stark to safety with his own hands.

Really, what Peter feels like, is a broken record of the same thought process that cycles around itself over and over again.

_I miss him. It was my fault. I need to save him. What if it’s too late? How can I go on if I lose him? I can’t lose him. I miss him. It was my fault. I need to save him._

Over and over again. Peter almost wishes Natasha would shoot him with a tranq, and then let him sleep until they know where Mr. Stark is. But he can’t, can’t even properly sleep, because they might get a ping on Mr. Stark’s location at any given moment, and Peter needs to be _ready._

He’s sitting in one corner of the ceiling when there’s a voice underneath, giving him flashbacks to the day of their arrival.

“Hey, Queens. You up?”

“I don’t think I could actually sleep on the ceiling,” Peter calls back, feeling hollow and sounding like it.

“Well, you never know. I’m not exactly privy to all your skills.”

He looks down at Steve, who’s standing under him with his hands on his hips, accentuating his crazy shoulders. Never let it be said that Peter can’t appreciate wonders even while going through personal hell.

He squints his eyes at the Captain’s clothes that have changed since the last time he paid attention to the man. Instead of the nondescript black clothes it’s a suit that resembles his Captain America uniform, but it’s… well, it’s black…That really must be the fashion, since everyone else except Peter is sporting black— But the suit, there’s a faded star in the chest and Cap has rolled up his sleeves, which both scares and intrigues Peter. Scares, because Steve looks like he could personally punch the hell out of a whale, and intrigues, because… why does Steve look like he could personally punch the hell out of a whale?

Pete’s brow furrows. That’s not all. He could swear he’s seen the design of that uniform in Mr. Stark’s workshop. He could _swear_ he’s seen Mr. Stark _work _on it… But it doesn’t make any sense, so he dismisses the thought. It was in the early days of their workshop companionship anyway, if it ever happened for real.

“What’s up?” he asks and drops down next to Steve, who now crosses his arms over his chest. Wow. His forearms are thicker than Peter’s thighs.

(Peter must be a _little_ bit in love. He wonders if the Spider-Man suit can make heart-eyes, because that’s definitely what he’s doing right now. Maybe Mr. Stark didn’t have in mind to code it into the system. It’s the small mercies…)

“Well,” Steve pauses, and Peter hopes he’s only imagining the Captain’s grave expression. “We talked, me, Sam, Nat, and Wanda, and we all agreed that it’s quite clear we can’t find Tony like this.”

Peter thinks his legs might give up, but Steve continues before they have time to betray their owner.

“At least not from here. Which is why we’re going to infiltrate a HYDRA base, and cut into their transmission feeds from the inside. That should let us locate him, or at least get closer.”

Peter stares. The white eyes of the suit have gone wide, and Steve offers him a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry it’s taking this long. I really hoped we would’ve found him by now, for all our sakes.”

“N-no, that’s alright. I mean it’s not alright, it’s absolutely terrible and I’m literally hanging onto the last thread of hope here, but, but you’re trying, and that… a H-HYDRA base? C-can… Can I come too-ooh?” Peter’s voice lifts at the end of the sentence, and his skin is starting to itch. _There’s a mission. Something to do. Something that gets us closer to Mr. Stark,_ his cells scream, and something in Peter shifts. The dull numbness in which he’s spent the last couple of days seems to disappear, and he quite literally feels his body starting to vibrate.

“Of course. I wouldn’t leave a capable fighter here, and you’re the one with the most motivation. It does wonders in the field,” Steve says, offering him a tentative smile, as if sensing the hope that’s currently throbbing in Peter’s veins. “We still need to go over the details, but I think we’re ready to leave early in the morning, I'm saying four-ish. So I suggest you get a good night’s sleep, and then get ready to kick those bastards straight into the next century.”

“Yes, Captain, sir, yes, of course!!” Peter jumps into motion, saluting Steve haphazardly before crashing through the room and out of the door, and then into the Quinjet to get out of the suit in peace. He and Natasha have bedrolls in there, although neither has used them yet.

He takes a shower quickly, too strung up with the sudden flurry of anticipation, and throws himself down onto his bedroll. He flops down on his stomach, and then flips over to lie on his back. Then on his stomach. On his back.

“Gaahh!!” he yells at the ceiling; the anticipation is killing him. There’s no _way_ he’s going to be able to sleep! Why can’t they leave right away?? What are they _waiting for??_ Mr. Stark is somewhere out there, and Peter needs to _get to him._

He jumps up to his feet and goes to fetch his cellphone from one the pouches attached to the suit’s waist. It’s the first time in days he turns on his phone, ever since putting on the airplane mode and shutting the whole thing down while sitting on top of the ice cream parlor.

He reaches for his mask and pulls it on, and for the first time in days, addresses Karen.

“Karen,” he begins hesitantly, as if the A.I. could be angry at him for Peter giving her a cold shoulder, “can you make sure no one tracks my phone? ‘Cos that would be, that’d be very bad. Like, so bad. The Black Widow would _kill_ me, on top of, er, everyone else who’s already in the line.”

_“Of course, Peter,” _Karen says softly into his ear, and Peter lets out a breath of relief. So the A.I. _isn’t _mad at him. One less person (-ish?) wanting to take him down.

“Thanks!” he tries to bring some cheer into his tone, but fails. Maybe it’s still too soon.

He switches off the airplane mode, and doesn’t have to wait long until…

Holy _shit._

There are over _200_ missed calls. Over _two hundred,_ including ones from May, Ms. Pepper, _Happy,_ even _Rhodey_ has tried calling him— holy _shit. _Peter is in _sooo _much _trouble._

_“There are 167 new messages in your voicemail,” _Karen says helpfully while Peter is agonizing over the amount of times he’s going to die once they get back to the civilization, _“would you like me to play them?”_

“Uh, maybe just, like, the ones you think are most relevant,” he swallows. “...Are there any from Happy?”

_“Yes, five of them, in which all of them he shows significant worry for your well-being.”_

“Happy??”

_“There is also one voicemail from Nick Fury. Do you want to hear it?”_

Peter blinks at the phone, and then, not trusting his voice, nods.

(He doesn’t _want_ to hear it, because what if Nick Fury _(Nick_ _Fury?!?!?) _wants to shoot him in the head _too,_ but he knows better than to ghost Nick Fury’s… voicemail.)

_“Playing voicemail from Nick Fury.”_

Peter still isn’t sure if he’s believing his ears when Fury’s unmistakable no-nonsense tone that Peter’s only previously heard on records fills his ears.

_“Hey kid. Bring him home.”_

Then, silence.

“That’s _it??”_ Peter exclaims and pushes himself up to his knees. “That’s _all??_ Everything Nick _Fury_ needs to say?!? The first thing Nick Fury’s _ever_ said to me??”

_“It appears so. I also feel obliged to remind you of rule #46, ‘no mingling with that sneaky pirate’.”_

“I’m not the one calling _him!”_

_“I’m not sure Mr. Stark cares about the difference.”_

“God, I’m so dead,” Peter mutters, lowering himself back to his poor replica of a bed. “Any… less violent ones from May?”

_“I’ll comb through them. Would you like to hear what Colonel Rhodes wants to tell you in the meantime?”_

“Uhhuh, sure. If it doesn’t promise a painful death.”

_“—— Hey, kid— I don’t know if you get this before returning, good mission protocol is keeping your phone off after all — don’t care about that noise, I’m having F.R.I.D.A.Y. play Tony’s list for heavy metal work to cover up the call. So, I know what you’re doing and I have a good guess of who you’re with... I hope you trust the right people, but if my guess is right, then frankly, all things aside, you couldn’t have done better. I know it’s probably too late for you to come back, wherever you are, so I just hope you’re being careful. When Tony gets back, he’ll want to have you in one piece, you hear that? There’s nothing I can do to help you, except to try and keep May and Pepper from gearing up and coming after you — not easy, let me tell you, Pepper was ready to fly a **suit** — but if you need me… firepower, protection, a ride, call me.”_

There’s a pause, during which the loud music keeps on tearing through Peter’s eardrums.

_“I’m leading the search, the army’s now involved, but it’s not going anywhere, just like our private searches. I think, if someone can find him… right now it’s you, Pete. If you were… if you were older, it’d be easier, ‘cos then I wouldn’t have to fret this much, but I know you’ll do well. You’re in good company, I hope.”_

Rhodey takes a deep, long inhale, the sound sharp enough to cut through the music.

_“Just, one thing more. Come back, no matter what, ‘cos I’m not prepared to pick up nobody’s pieces. And bring Tony home, but that is **secondary**, okay? If you can’t find him, you come back, alright? If it gets too dangerous, you come **back**. It’s not cowardice or giving up, it’s called common sense. Then we can try again, together. Okay?_

_“Use your brain. Stay safe. Come back in one piece. That’s now the rule number **one**, okay? Number **one**. Oh, and tell everyone I said hi. Maybe punch Sam in the face for me? Thanks, Pete.”_

A beep, and Peter’s ears are released from the hell of listening to the stuff Mr. Stark calls “music”.

He blinks, his eyes feeling a little hot, and he buries his face into the scrappy pillow, breathing deeply.

“Rhodey didn’t thank me just in advance for the punch, did he?” he mumbles, and Karen’s voice is sympathetic and soft when she answers.

_“I guess not. Would you like to hear a voicemail from Mrs. Parker now?”_

Peter inhales sharply, holding his breath as he contemplates it, and then lets his lungs empty with a deep exhale while shaking his head.

“No. I’ll just… I’ll just want to call her then, and that’ll… I think… I think Rhodey already told me everything I needed to hear. She’s just gonna fret and threaten me and be all stressed and then I’ll be stressed too, ‘cos if she freaks out, I freak out.”

Silence falls, during which Peter navigates into his text messages (there are… _so_ many of them). He doesn’t even dare to glance the ones left by May or Ms. Pepper, but Ned doesn’t seem to have a need to execute him, and shows an interesting (and slightly terrifying) perspective on Peter going off on his own.

hey dude may called

she was asking if you’re here so i covered for you

said you were sleeping

she says you hadn’t told her abt mr stark? but she apparently knows now

she’s very sorry and she said she understands if you need time

…

i think may’s getting suspicious abt not reaching you

maybe idk call her? i’ve said that we’ve been watching sw in my room like, the whole time so maybe say that?

…

um i think you should really call may

…

dude ms POTTS came at the DOOR!!!

and may was there

i FREAKED OUT SO BAD OHMYGOIDFJHGHFG

they were like, gearing up for a battle

i told them you’d been here for two days n that then you left saying you’d go home and that if you hadn’t gone home then i don’t know where you are but i hope that bought you some time to do whatever it is you’re doing

or gave them a false lead or smth

i think may was about to cry tho

ms potts is so scary. she’s like got this presence. it’s awesome

…

dude where the fuck are you tho everyone’s worried

i hope you know what you’re doing

i talked with may and she said she thinks you’ve gone after mr stark

she says she’s gonna strangle both of you when u get back

…

you better get back tho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give your thoughts about the chapter!! I'd love to hear ALL your thoughts! <3
> 
> Next time................... INTO THE BATTLE -------->>>>
> 
> you can also find me on [tumblr](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com)!


	4. Captain America’s Nazi-Punching Approval Stamp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter four!! Thank you lovelies for the amazing feedback on the last chapter!! <333 really made working on this chapter so much easier!
> 
> This time, plot..... swings forward.............. SMASHINGLY
> 
> thank you for Kaisa for proofreading and being my mental support, and Daisy for betaing!! I love you both <3

“Do we have any satellite data from the base?” Steve asks, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to scrutinize the marker indicating the base’s whereabouts. Sam switches windows to start piling up the data, and Steve straightens his back with a frown firmly in place.

He doesn’t mind going in blind like this, without any prior knowledge of the place. That’s what he’s usually done anyway — for all his plans with the Avengers, they’ve usually ended up improvising 90% of the mission. Pre-gained knowledge can only take one so far.

His eyes glide over the cabin of the jet. Wanda and Nat are sitting in the cockpit, chatting away about Wanda’s English studies, and Spider-Man is hanging from a single web attached to the ceiling, gently swaying back and forth with the movements of the jet. The sight is an amusing one, and Steve bets Spider-Man is doing it out of fun.

He feels glad. It’s high time for that kid to feel something else than… well, whatever he’s been feeling these past days. Steve doesn’t want to think of despair, or hopelessness — two feelings he’s awfully familiar with — but if he had to describe Spider-Man’s mood… those would be the words he’d use.

“There’s one entrance,” Sam says, pointing at the blurry map he’s managed to gather. “We’ll see if it’s guarded… If not, it’ll be an easy deal breaking in. If it is, well, it’s still gonna be pretty easy.”

“We’ll see.”

Steve turns to look at Spider-Man again, and Sam catches the direction of his gaze.

He lets out a deep sigh.

“Go on,” he mutters, waving an irritated hand. “You’ll probably wanna give him the usual mission protocol speech. God knows how he’ll muck up.”

“No, I’m not going to do that,” Steve says quietly, glancing at Sam with a slight glare. The man’s act of disliking the kid is getting a bit old, since all of them (except for Spider-Man) can see that Sam is grudgingly getting fond of him.

Magic included, indeed.

“I’m going to give him a pep talk,” Steve continues with a decisive nod, and Sam shudders.

“Damn, that’s worse.”

“Eat shit,” Steve grins at him and shoves him on the shoulder, before turning his full attention to the kid, waving at him to catch his attention.

(He can’t be sure, but he suspects Spider-Man has enhanced hearing. At least he doesn’t seem at all surprised by Steve’s wave, but instead jumps down as if he’d been waiting for it.)

“What’s up, Cap?” Spider-Man bounces over soon after, and Steve can’t help but smile at him. Day after day he likes the kid more, and day after day he increasingly wonders whether Tony knows just exactly how valuable his young, loyal follower is.

He hopes so, because Steve is finding himself realizing just that.

“A couple of things,” he says and leads Spider-Man into the back of the Quinjet, next to the closed ramp. Spider-Man stops in front of him, then starts immediately hopping from one ball of his foot to the other.

He isn’t the world’s most capable person of just standing around, Steve’s noticed.

“The mission is simple. Get in, incapacitate the personnel, find Tony’s location through the transmission. We should be able to destroy the base before they get a distress signal out, but speed is of the essence.”

“Yes, yes, of course, what do I do?” Spider-Man bounces back and forth, and Steve suppresses a smile. He feels like he’s finally seeing the kid from the airport. It’s a comforting thought. The kid’s been way too muted, despite all his babbling.

“We have a big advantage, and that is having something HYDRA wouldn’t have known to prepare for... that is, your particular set of skills.”

“Did you just make a pop culture reference? Oh my God.”

Steve huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“Yes, well. I want you to keep a low profile at first — come in behind us, make sure no one gets past us.”

Spider-Man looks at him for a second, and then his white eye slits narrow. Steve isn’t sure why, but he gets the feeling that the kid is pouting.

“You want me to stay away from the fight?”

“Just at first, since we’re going in without knowing anything about the base.”

He gets a scathing look in return and gives an apologetic smile.

“I trust my men to look after themselves, and I know you’re capable. I know you’re strong — I _did _drop that container on you—”

“Oh right, Mr. Stark was a bit angry about, er, that,” Spider-Man says, and Steve can hear a grimace in his voice.

Steve can’t help but scrunch his face a little. He can well imagine Tony’s reaction upon hearing about _that._

“He, uh, he called you names that I’m not _ever_ allowed to repeat, _ever,_ it’s one of the rules — but, but, but if you think that I’m capable, then why… why are you making me stay _back—”_

God, but he sounds young. Steve finds himself frowning at the kid, his lips pursing together. Somehow, placing his age in the 19-23 range seems… incorrect.

It does bother him a little, not knowing how old Spider-Man is. Steve trusts everyone to handle themselves, and he doesn’t coddle his men — but he has limits; being young is one of those. If the kid isn’t careful, he might lose his life. And for the moment, it’s on Steve to keep him safe.

Besides… he’s in a frail state of mind. Steve knows what that can do to a soldier, let alone a young civilian.

He recognizes, though, that it would be the wrong thing to say. He’s going to have to figure out something less… fight-inducing.

(He knows that if someone had told him he was not fit to look for and then eventually fight Bucky… He would’ve fought twice as hard, no matter his own state of mind. He guesses it’s a problem he shares with Spider-Man — and _Tony, _heaven’s sake that man doesn't know when to _give up;_ that particular level of stubbornness is strong in all of them. Maybe one is required to be at least a little stubborn, in their line of work.)

“I…” he hesitates for a second, “...think it would be better for all of us if you’re in one piece when we find Tony. I think he’d prefer that. So I want to be sure it happens. But once we’re in and we’ve seen what the situation is like, I won’t hold you back. As I said, HYDRA isn’t expecting you. That can be a big advantage, and we lose it if you make your presence known right from the start.”

Spider-Man looks down at his feet, and Steve knows he’s hit a reasoning that works.

“That… that makes sense. And Rhodey did tell me to stay safe,” the kid mumbles, and Steve nods with relief.

Wait, Rhodey??

“Have you been in contact with him?” he asks, voice maybe sharper than it should be, and Spider-Man is immediately sent into a flurry of flailing limbs and urgent words.

“No! Nonono, of course not, but I just— I-I checked my messages last night, in a secure mode, it’s completely untraceable, I promise, and there was a voice message from him, and he told me to, to stay safe, and come back no matter what, even if we don’t find Mr. Stark, and, and, he told me to say hello, ‘cos he kinda guessed that I’m with you—”

“Okay.” Steve interrupts him with a nod, and Spider-Man falls silent with his eye slits having widened into a pleading look: _Please believe me. _“Well, if you’re in contact with him at some point… Tell him I said hi.”

_“Dude_, you’re literally like, _so cool.”_

Steve smiles at him, surprisingly happy at hearing that. He feels like he’s always struggled at being “cool” — he’s a slightly awkward guy from Brooklyn who punches bullies in the face rather than talking things through — and it… it is nice, knowing at least _someone _thinks he’s… cool. Someone who’s actually talked with him, with Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

Spider-Man seems to freeze suddenly, and Steve can almost see panic travelling through his small, agile body, right from the bottom of his toes to the tips of his fingers.

_“D— _I _mean,_ Mr. Captain, dude— Cap— _no, _oh my God, Mr. Steve, _sir,_ just— forget, forget the whole thing, shit, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Steve’s lips are tugging upwards insistently. “You can call me ‘dude’, if you want.”

The kid lets out a strangled sound. Steve’s afraid he’s just fallen back to giving him the “Mr. Captain Rogers America, sir,” treatment that he occasionally does.

There’s one curious thing that it reminds him of, though.

“Can I ask,” he starts, and Spider-Man is already nodding several times in a row. Steve huffs a laugh, giving a nod on his own. He doesn’t know what he expected. The kid is _ridiculously_ endearing.

“Why do you call Rhodey by his nickname, but then Tony is Mr. Stark for you? Hasn’t Tony told you to call him by his first name?”

“Oh, oh, he has, sure, of course,” Spider-Man nods, and Steve sees him take a deep breath. He suppresses a smile and prepares for a lengthy explanation.

“You see, at first I intended to call Rhodey ‘Colonel Rhodes’, but he insisted like, right away that I should call him Rhodey, so then I called him ‘Mr. Rhodey’ for some time, and now he’s just ‘Rhodey’ — Ms. Pepper is Ms. Pepper since she wants me to call her by her first name, but I _couldn’t,_ it’s _impossible,_ man, she’s so— she’s— she’s so awesome that I couldn’t possibly? So it’s like, all about respect, I physically _can’t_ when it comes to just calling her P-Pepper, _ugh,_ oh my God, that feels so weird— but so, um, Mr. Stark, he’s, he’s Mr. Stark, because, uhhh, he’s trying to make me call him by his first name, but it’s so _weird— _I feel like I don’t have the _rights _to call him To— T-_Tony, _because, ‘cos he’s like… he’s the _Iron Man, _dude! He’s, he’s… there’s no one I respect more than him,” the mask’s eyes are wide and earnest. “So, so, he’s Mr. Stark.”

“So the more you respect someone, the more you stick to the formalities?” Steve raises an eyebrow, finding it more fascinating that strange. Someone has _sure_ raised a polite young man.

“Uhh, y-yeah, k-kinda, usually,” Spider-Man vigorously nods again. “But frankly it’s— it’s more like a running gag, really, since Mr. Stark is like, always complaining about me not using his first name, and Rhodey gets to tease him about being on first-name basis with me, and it makes Mr. Stark jealous, and he whines a lot, and Rhodey gets to feel superior I guess, so I’m kind of under obligation from Rhodey to keep calling Mr. Stark _‘Mr. Stark’_ so that he doesn’t lose the leverage.”

Steve can’t help it; he barks out a laugh, and at the same time feels a twinge in his chest that he recognizes as nostalgia, a longing for what once was. Tony and Rhodey going at it always used to be a constant.

Funny how one doesn’t realize missing things before they smack you in the face.

“Well, then under no circumstances are you to call him Tony, ever,” he says, voice warm and amused. “That’s an order from your captain. Got it?”

Spider-Man laughs.

The sound seems to startle him, and Steve watches how the joy leaves his body as fast as it came; the kid seems to deflate, his eye slits narrowing slightly as his gaze falls to the ground. Then he starts to shake, and suddenly he’s crouching down, and Steve is kneeling next to him, a firm hand on his small shoulder.

“I— I don’t know— I don’t know if I have— how can I _laugh_ when Mr. Stark, he’s—” Spider-Man stutters, and Steve has a moment to feel the panic that it’s him dealing with this and not, say, Wanda or Nat who have so far taken care of looking after Spider-Man’s… emotional outbursts. He doesn’t know if he’s any good with emotions, he just doesn’t quite know if he says and does the right things… God, the last time he was faced with an emotionally unbalanced individual, he ended up dropping three helicarriers — but… but somehow, he feels like Spider-Man needs _him_ now, not Wanda, not Natasha, but… but someone who’s gone through the same.

“…Would Tony want you to stop laughing?” he asks after carefully considering his words, and only after Spider-Man quiets down does he conclude that he did in fact land the right question.

“N-no,” the kid says with a small voice, sounding younger than ever, and Steve squeezes his shoulder gently. “B-but then again, he probably wouldn’t want me to taint myself with the outlawed Captain and his, uh, _‘flying monkeys’_ either, like, uh, Mr. Stark says.”

“No, I don’t think he would,” Steve chuckles slowly, the sound soft and quiet. He got that reference. “But I think he’d mind the not laughing bit more.”

“I’ll… I’ll try to… to be more positive, then,” Spider-Man says. “I… I think I’m usually like, really positive, as a person, but it’s— it’s been difficult, after he was taken.”

Steve nods. He understands.

“But I’ll try. I can, I can do it. For Mr. Stark. I’ll do it for Mr. Stark.”

“That’s the good attitude,” Steve claps him on the shoulder, accidentally using a little more strength out of pure relief that the situation was cleared without him mucking things up badly. The kid doesn’t even waver under his touch. “Now, you know what always gets my spirits up?”

“W-what?”

“Punching Nazis,” Steve gives him a wide smile, “Be sure to show ‘em that right straight of yours.”

“You’re _awesome,_ _dude.”_

* * *

They’ve left the Quinjet a couple of miles away and have trekked the remaining distance to the base. Peter is crouched next to Natasha, peering at the metal door that seems to be leading into a bunker. They’re _literally_ in the middle of nowhere, and Peter bets he wouldn’t have any connection in his phone even if he had Karen connect it to a StarkSatellite.

There’s no one guarding the door, at which Mr. Wilson scoffed lightly, and now they’re trying to figure out the best way of getting in without being immediately noticed by the HYDRA personnel that are lurking inside the bunker. There’s a code pad next to the door, one which _presumably _would open said door, but Natasha says that figuring out the right code would take a very long time, even from her. So now they’re crouching here, behind a couple of bushes and boulders, trying to come up with a plan of sorts.

“How _would _you figure out the code?” Peter asks Natasha, who glances his way and… sort of shrugs with her eyebrows. Huh. Fascinating.

“I’d break into the console and run a series of programs through it. It would eventually find the right code,” Natasha says. “But it would take time. And it’s risky, might be noticed inside the base — depends on how good their equipment is.”

“Huh,” Peter nods, then turns his head towards the door. He squints.

“Karen?” he asks, and the others turn to look at him with confused expressions. Peter doesn’t care; he’s now on a mission. On a mission to _punch Nazis,_ which Captain America _told him to do._

Awesome!

_“Yes, Peter?”_

“Can you make a guess of the code?”

_“Certainly! According to the fingerprint patterns on the code pad, and the order of the numbers having faded slightly, I’d suggest attempting code 95382.” _The numbers flash red in his HUD. _“If it doesn’t work, I have other options for you to try.”_

“Cool, thanks! Uh, guys, the code is probably 95382,” Peter declares and then starts sneakily shifting through the bush to get closer to the door. He’s already — with very much talent — forgotten that Steve wants him to stay behind.

His stomach is doing a weird kind of a lurching movement. Because even though it’s super small, there’s a possibility that Mr. Stark is in _this_ base. So naturally, Peter has to _check._

The others don’t move for a moment, just stare after him, and then there’s a huff of amusement from Natasha.

“It’s like having Stark on a mission,” she smiles with a quirk of her lips, and Peter already knows them well enough to guess what exact kind of a face Mr. Wilson is doing.

“There are no cameras out here,” he says when Karen gives him a green signal a few seconds after. “We can just go.”

“Great. He’s _literally _a mini Stark. If Stark wore spandex pajamas,” Mr. Wilson mutters.

“Stark doesn’t wear pajamas,” Natasha says, and okay, _wow,_ too much _information, _thanks—

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Mr. Wilson sighs. “I don’t wanna know how you know.”

“That’s a professional secret—”

“One hour in Tony’s space is enough for learning things you later regret knowing. Hush now, guys,” Steve says in a final tone, but it doesn’t stop Natasha from continuing,

“—But he uses a tank top and jogging pants.”

“He _sleeps_ in those pants?? The _oily ones??!”_ Peter exclaims at the exact same time as Wanda says with a confused voice, “he owns jogging pants?”

“Yes, it’s convenient for going back to his workshop after he’s had his fill of coffee— I don’t think he sleeps much in his own bed—”

“Okay, but can we _please_ stop discussing Stark, or his clothes, or his sleeping habits, or _anything_ to do with him,” Mr. Wilson says desperately, and wow, okay, Peter’s about to open his mouth to say that it’s _always_ a good time to discuss _all things_ Mr. Stark — well, maybe not his sleeping attire because _yuck_ —because Mr. Stark is _amazing,_ but then Steve is moving past him, patting him on the back while giving him a small smile. Peter recognizes it as the same as Mr. Stark’s expression of _“well done, kid”,_ and beams at the man before remembering that he’s still wearing the mask. Oh well. Maybe the suit somehow translates the expression.

“Stay back,” Steve says quietly. “Come after us, take care of anyone who approaches you, or is trying to get out. It’s an important position; don’t let them get us from behind.”

“Of course not, sir, Captain, Steve, yes, I’ll do that,” Peter says and salutes clumsily, to which Steve responds with another smile and a small, relaxed salute of his own. Wow, okay, that was way cooler than it was probably supposed to be — Captain America _saluted_ him, Peter’s been saluted by the _motherland_ — and he’ll definitely stay back. Yes yes, important position, he’s staying back, _of course he will,_ he’s totally doing it — he can _totally_ do this—!

Peter stands back while Steve punches in the suggested code, and there’s a green blinking light before the door lets out a hiss.

“Mother_fucker_ of a bug, he was right,” Mr. Wilson says, his body tensing with the rest of them. Wanda steps in front of the door, hands poised up into an attack-ready position, and Steve carefully pulls the heavy door open to reveal… an empty corridor. Wow, that was literally _so_ anticlimactic—

It only takes one solid, telling look from Steve to the others, before the lot swiftly disappears into the base without hesitation, with clear, wordless coordination between them.

Peter shakes his arms and hops from one foot to another and counts to twenty before he follows, somehow feeling more alive than in many, many days.

* * *

They move rapidly through the empty corridors. Steve is at the front, extending his hearing as far as it goes. They know the base to be small, more meant as a storage and a “safe stopping” for HYDRA’s men, but there might be some laboratory activity involved, the assumption drawn from the bigger laboratory bases sharing occasional transmissions with this one.

They open doors as they go, and so far have only ran into storage rooms and one empty office. They’re trying to keep quiet and thus move slower than what they’d be capable of, and Steve wonders whether Spider-Man’s patience lasts. He can’t hear the kid, but Sam gave a nod and a lift of his arm-attached radar as an answer to the enquiring eyebrow Steve threw at him; the kid is following, admirably quiet, and thankfully far enough that anyone running into Steve’s group can’t see him.

They face another quiet corridor, littered with fluorescent tubes and closed metal doors. Steve’s ears are now picking up some noises — originating from the very end of the corridor, where another closed door is embedded into the concrete wall. All the activity is behind that one, then.

_‘Strange, that they’re all in there,’ _Steve wonders, his eyes sweeping over the corridor. He can’t see any visible traps, which means that it’s not a set-up. Most likely no one knows they’re coming, which makes the job _much _easier.

He signals a stop, and without needing to say anything they retreat to huddle behind the corner.

“They’re behind that door,” Steve says in a hushed tone. “Let’s just do a basic charge—”

“Heyy!”

It takes all of Steve’s willpower and fast reflexes to not fire at the ceiling, where Spider-Man has suddenly appeared right above them, manic energy radiating from him. _‘He’s excited,’_ Steve’s thoughts supply, _‘excited and most likely at the verge of his patience.’_

Well. To be honest, it took him longer to catch up to them than Steve expected.

“Hi,” Wanda smiles up at him and gives a little wave, then points at the door at the end of the corridor. “Do you hear anything?”

Spider-Man’s white eyes squint towards the door, and he shuffles slightly forward, fingertips and toes keeping him firmly in the ceiling. It’s certainly a sight to behold, and Steve’s not sure he’s ever going to get used to the kid just… _sticking…_ like that.

“There’s a bit of chatter… and these clinking sounds? Do they have like, a cafeteria or something?”

So. Enhanced hearing then.

Steve and Nat let out understanding hums.

“It’s breakfast time,” Nat says, her voice colored by dark satisfaction. _“Good._ They’re all in one place.” She turns her gaze towards the door, activating her Widow’s bites that rarely leave her wrists anymore, and Steve bets that if that door was anything less than actual metal, it would quiver and run away from her sheer expression. Steve _certainly _would.

“Are they actually _that _stupid? All eating at the _same time?_ With no guards?? That’s like, _asking_ for a takeover,” Spider-Man asks, voice light and innocent, pure curiosity behind his question.

“I’m not sure _anyone _joining HYDRA can be called something else than stupid,” Sam says, grumbling quietly, but it doesn’t escape Steve that it’s the first time the man has addressed the kid willingly without trying to pick up a fight.

_‘Your affection’s showing, buddy,’_ Steve thinks but doesn’t say it, his mouth curling into the smallest of smiles. He shoots Sam an arched eyebrow instead, to which the man responds with an unhappy frown.

“Right. Here’s what we do then,” he then says, straightening his back, and the others take a step closer, Spider-Man crawling into the spot directly on top of them. “Queens, you kick the door open, Wanda, go in first. Give ‘em a bit of a blow to clear some space for us, to create confusion. I go in, then Nat, then Queens, then Sam. Sam, stick close to the door, stop anyone from leaving. Nat, if there’s another door, you guard it. Queens, third door for you, Wanda, fourth. Any lab personnel stays alive, but tied up and out cold. Got it?”

“Question,” Sam raises a hand, a petulant expression on his face. “Bug boy. Those webs of yours, they any handy?”

“Oh, oh, oh, y-yes!” Spider-Man is practically vibrating on the ceiling. “I can, I can stick people to walls, and it’ll hold, it dissolves on its own in like, four hours, but you’ll need someone with, I guess, super-strength to get it off earlier, or something really sharp—”

“They any good at blocking doorways?” Sam looks like somebody’s holding a shovel full of smelly cheese under his nose.

They all stare at Spider-Man, whose eyes have widened considerably. If the suit could make heart eyes, Steve’s sure they’d be showing now.

“Y-y-yes, yes they are, Mr. Falcon, sir, they’re very good! Very, very good, like, _so_ good—”

“Okay, here’s what you do,” Steve interrupts him. He sees Wanda and Nat exchange amused smiles between them and pushes down his own urge to chuckle. Sam just looks like he’s being forced to eat the cheese. “Sam guards this door. In case of any other ways out, you go and web ‘em up. We close the space. No one gets out; the only way is through Sam. We take care of everyone behind that door, and then cut through the webs to continue further. Any questions?”

“Can I—” Spider-Man lifts a hand— er, points it downwards— whatever he does with his hand while upside down— “Can I— you won’t tell me to stay back, right, C-Cap?”

“No,” Steve says. “You web the doors, and then you punch Nazis until there’s no one left standing.”

_“Lit.”_

Spider-Man drops to the ground in front of them, freezing when he turns to face the corridor. Steve is just about to tell the others to start looking into the other rooms alongside the tight space, when the kid nods to himself.

“The other rooms are empty — Karen scanned them, it’s just storage space.”

“I’m sorry, kid, but _who_ the fuck is Karen??” Sam’s voice sounds from the back, and Spider-Man jumps around.

“Oh, she’s, she’s my A.I. — Mr. Stark gave her to me — I mean, technically I shouldn’t be using her yet, but me and my friend, we _kind _of hacked the suit — I already got an earful about it, don’t worry, but in the end I could keep her, ‘cos Mr. Stark thought she could, uh, keep me away from bad decisions, maybe, so yeah, um, my, my A.I.”

Sam is quiet for a moment. The others stare at him.

Then the man just ducks his head with a mutter of “Stark gave him an _A.I. — I _wanted an A.I”.

“Sorry, Sam,” Wanda pats him on the shoulder with a smile, while Nat shakes her head with a huff of knowing laughter. “Stark probably thought you weren’t worth it.”

Steve’s lips quirk into a smile. He’s pretty sure Wanda is, in fact, right. Tony wouldn’t just share his A.I.s with anyone.

“I asked once. He scoffed at me,” Sam sighs, his shoulders slumped, and Steve huffs a laugh.

“Can you really complain about Redwing, though? —Let’s go,” he says through a smile that he struggles to wipe away, motioning towards the door, and within a few seconds they all jump into action, all discussion forgotten.

They gather around the door, their weapons of choice ready (guns for Steve and Sam, Widow’s bites for Nat, Wanda with her eyes glowing red and Spider-Man… just pulling his hands into fists?). Spider-Man and Wanda exchange nods before the kid takes a step back, shakes himself, mutters _“do it for him”,_ and then bounces towards the door with one leg coming up for a kick.

Steve knows the kid is strong. It’s still something to see such a small body creating a force that easily smashes the door out of its hinges and into the room with a loud bang. There is clatter inside, and shouts, but Wanda is already moving forward with her hands coming up for an energy blast that’ll throw everyone at least sixteen feet away from the door, giving the rest of them space to push into the room and spread out into good fighting positions.

Steve goes in next, takes in the room. It’s a large square one that has a few table rows — now disturbed by Wanda’s blast — and there’s one door at the left side of the room, presumably leading towards the communication office that they haven’t found yet. Steve’s eyes lock onto that door, through the masses of HYDRA’s men that are scrambling to their feet, reaching for their weapons. There are about forty of them, which Steve assumes is nearly all the personnel in the base. In any case, it’ll be an easy job… as long as no one in his team gets shot.

Nat brushes past him, heading towards three unfortunate guys with deadly intent in her movements, and Wanda is already holding two men in the air, hitting them against each other continuously with something akin to sadistic glee in her red eyes.

“Queens,” Steve calls, and Spider-Man appears next to him, the eyes of the mask wide and a slightly sloppy fighting position in place. Hmm. Steve should give him a lesson at some point. “Web the door!”

“Copy!!” Spider-Man squeals, and Steve can see how the pent-up energy is starting to come out in pulses. The kid jumps into the air, attaches a web to the ceiling and then swings towards the door faster than any man can run, shooting four well-aimed webs at it.

The doorway is blocked, and secure in that knowledge, Steve turns his attention to the fight.

It becomes a flurry after that — he’s too busy looking after himself that he doesn’t have time to catch up with the others, but as far as fights go, it isn’t the most difficult one. He kicks and punches rather than shoots — or at least kicks and punches _before_ shooting, relishing in the feeling of getting to do something this physical after days of sitting in frustrated worry; every hit delivered takes him closer to finding Tony, and that becomes a mantra that he repeats in the back of his mind. _You’ll find him, you promised, you won’t leave him hanging, you promised. _It’s all part of the repetition of the fight — punch, kick, duck, shoot, punch, throw a chair, shoot, duck, punch. Steve’s got it memorized, down to the very last twitch of his muscles, and he lets himself enjoy the way Nazi noses break under his knuckles.

Suddenly, Spider-man’s high, boyish voice cuts through the fight, and Steve freezes instinctively upon hearing it.

_“STOP!!!”_

Miraculously — perhaps because even HYDRA soldiers must take a double-take at how young Spider-Man’s voice sounds like — the fight stills for a moment.

Steve looks up at the kid with wide eyes, a quiver of worry in his mind and questions ready on his lips, but they all die in his throat as he takes in the situation.

Spider-Man is standing on a table, his posture relaxed and stance casual. He’s holding his hands on both sides of his mouth to make his voice louder, and Steve can’t help but think that he looks more like a kid on a playground trying to get the other kids’ attention than somebody fighting in a hidden Nazi base.

“Hi— hi everyone! Spider-Man here, hi— just a super quick question — are there any bad guys here who really, _really _like ice cream?” Spider-Man calls out, and Steve is officially _confused. _He shares an incredulous glance with Wanda, who has frozen with her hands spread out, her eyes glowing a dangerous red, with equally confused looking HYDRA men hovering six feet above the ground.

In what must be the most unexpected turn of their mission so far, a few of the HYDRA men hesitantly point towards one agent that’s standing a bit farther back. The goon lifts a hand slowly once it’s clear that Spider-Man has noticed him.

“Me?” he says. Spider-Man looks visibly brightened.

“Oh! Hi! Kinda nice to meet you, except that you’re a Nazi — bad choice, what are your mom’s thoughts on it?? —Say, _if _I promised you a huge pile of the _best _ice cream you can get from Queens, would you surrender?”

“Um, no?” the HYDRA agent says.

_“...’Mr. Stark is always right’,”_ Spider-Man sighs, sounding like he’s reciting a schoolteacher, hands resting on his hips and head bobbing along to the staccato rhythm of his words. “Alright, your loss!” He then says cheerfully and throws a table at the man’s face with his webbing.

Steve’s lips twitch, and he hears something that suspiciously sounds like Sam choking on a surprised laugh, and then the fight is on again, Spider-Man throwing himself on the wall only to bounce onto HYDRA’s men with devastating power behind his hits.

“You better appreciate this punch! It has the Captain America Approval Stamp!” he yells while punching a man all across the room, and Steve can’t help but laugh this time while incapacitating two men at the same time, one with a kick in the stomach, the other with a chair in the face.

“I gotta admit,” Sam appears next to him, not looking any worse for wear than at the beginning of the mission, “that his one-liners are pretty funny.”

“Better than yours.”

“You’re a right little shit, Cap.”

“I try my best.”

Spider-Man jumps over chairs and HYDRA agents, gasping “parkour!” with every flip, and Steve grins when he hears Sam huff a chuckle.

They go back to the fight, and after a few moments there are only a couple of HYDRA men left, and one is standing at a convenient throwing distance. Steve calculates the situation, grabs a metallic dining table and hurls it at the man with all his strength.

He notices a red and blue figure swinging in the middle of the table’s flying trajectory too late, and only has time to feel something akin to straight horror before there’s a loud _SMACK, _followed by a cracking sound.

* * *

This is the _best fight _Peter’s ever been a part of. The absolute _best._ It definitely wins the fight against the Charizard, and _definitely_ wins the one against the weird walrus guy. No, that was just a creepy fight. Peter had to punch a _walrus_ in that one. The airport fight in Germany comes as a close second, because that sure was an _awesome_ fight, but this. This is the _absolute best. _Punching Nazis is _so_ much more fun than punching Captain America.

Never mind that his ice cream theory is definitely debunked now. Mr. Stark is either going to be very pleased that he was right all along, or very disappointed with Peter for even _thinking_ about it during a fight against HYDRA. Then again, Peter is pretty sure Mr. Stark would be thinking about it as well were he in the fight with them. Peter is also pretty sure that Mr. Stark would use the opportunity to ask about it _himself._

He’s been playing it safe, _reeeaally safe,_ Rhodey’s words echoing in his head at steady intervals like a subway announcement about timetable changes. Consequently, he’s spent quite a lot of time swinging from corner to corner, confusing bad guys and making them turn their heads at crucial times, which then results in them getting their ass kicked by the others. It’s been a thing of beauty and great wonder, watching Natasha incapacitate men with forks she’s grabbed from one of the tables, or seeing Wanda throw a pile of porridge at somebody’s eyes to blind them, then knocking them out cold by levitating a heavy pan of said porridge on their head. Peter bets it tastes ugly. _Nazi porridge._

Steve was right about punching Nazis making you feel better, though. Peter feels _so_ good. And not only because he gets to show those bastards; also because they’re _finally_ getting somewhere. They’re going to find Mr. Stark. Peter _knows_ it. They’re so close he can almost taste victory in his mouth.

He drops to the ground and webs a bad guy to the wall, then spins into a jump and lands behind another man.

“Hey, catch this!” he shouts and as the man turns, aims a powerful kick at his face.

“Good catch!” he compliments the unconscious man and webs him to the ground before he’s in the air again, swinging in a large arc from one corner of the room to another, taking in the room. There are only a couple of guys left, one conveniently separated from the others, and Peter whips a web into the ceiling above the man’s head to swing at him at MAXIMUM SPEED, legs ready for the Kick of the Century, his speed augmenting as he swirls through the air.

His neck is pulled by an urgent tingle.

“What?” he asks and turns his head, because something is—

Whatever he was anticipating, it wasn’t a table slamming into his face mid-flight.

He only has time to think of a very strong, loud _“what”_ before he’s falling towards the ground, catching a glimpse of the offending table — now in two pieces — as it catapults into different directions from the force of the impact with Peter’s nose.

He smashes against the floor with his face first — because _of course _— and his mouth makes a funny sound, so do probably his ribs and nose as well, and… so does his suit?

“Shit, fuck— _fuck,”_ he hears Steve say, or rather gasp, and he has time to wildly think that _Captain America is a potty mouth _before the HUD turns _black._

_“Code error,”_ Karen says, her voice even smoother and much more robotic-like than usually, and then the mask lets out another beep. _“Regaining full capabilities in 3, 2, 1.”_

The HUD flares bright red, and there’s a quick loading screen before Peter’s sight returns… and it’s all different.

“Oh God,” he says, still lying on the floor, face down, his nose and ribs aching. “Captain America broke me.”

“Queens, you okay there?” Steve’s hurried voice reaches his ears and there are footsteps rushing over to him, a hand landing on his shoulder. Peter blinks, but the HUD stays the same. The red, compared to the usual blue, is not just a figment of his imagination?

“I… Karen, what is—”

_“Congratulations, Peter,” _Karen speaks, once again sounding her usual warm A.I. self, _“you have reached your suit’s full capabilities, either from turning 25 or from Mr. Stark approving it. The **‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Spider’** protocol has been deactivated.”_

_“Another _Training Wheels-ish protocol??” Peter cries out and jumps to his feet. Steve, crouched next to him, jerks back with an alarmed and confused expression. Mr. Wilson and Wanda are watching them warily from a small distance away, while Natasha stands with her arms crossed over the unmoving body of the guy Peter was aiming for, a curious frown between her (perfect) eyebrows. No one’s moving anymore, except for HYDRA’s men struggling in Peter’s webs; it seems that the fight ended around the same time as Peter’s flight did.

_“Mr. Stark deemed it safer that you do not have full access to the suit’s all upgrades before he can verify you are capable of taking care of yourself. The **‘I Can Say ‘Fuck’ Now’** protocol has plenty of new features. Would you like to learn about them?”_

“What, _yes??_ And I can say _‘fuck’_ now??” Peter exclaims. “That is _amazing._ Shit, I had no clue— is this _new? _It wasn’t there when me and Ned broke into the suit—”

“Spidey, what is going on?” Natasha asks from her standing point, but Karen has already started listing the suit’s previously hidden features, and Peter can’t really concentrate on anything but the A.I.’s voice.

_“You have the New York police force on a hotline, a map of the best pizza places in New York, a map of the best sandwich stores in New York, a map of the best bars in New York, remote access to the Compound’s coffee machine timers, remote access to F.R.I.D.A.Y., remote access to Mr. Stark’s servers with access level Alpha, remote access to Mr. Stark’s location, remote access to—”_

“D-did you say _LOCATION??” _Peter screeches, and Steve, who’s stood up and was leaning forward to try to catch his attention, startles again and takes a step back. “Karen! _Karen?!”_

_“Would you like me to call F.R.I.D.A.Y. on a secure line?” _Karen chirps, and before Peter has time to say anything, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s Irish tones suddenly fill his ears.

His legs give up and he flops down to his backside, his head reeling. He isn’t sure whether he’s quite keeping up with what’s happening.

_“Hello Peter. Congratulations on reaching adulthood. Karen has asked me to explain the **‘Name Needed: Loc. Acc. Protoc. Final Deadline: 2026’** protocol. You have remote access to the location chip that is under Bosses skin. You are so far the only one with the knowledge of its existence due to security and trust measures, and the only one with the capability of running the protocol. Boss sees that when the **‘I Can Say ‘Fuck’ Now’** protocol has been activated, it means you are capable and old enough to handle such responsibilities as to where he would be the one needing your help, thus you needing his location. Would you like that I search for him now?”_

Peter really, _really_ needs to lay down, his head spinning, and so he does. He is mildly aware of Steve fretting over him, of Wanda and Natasha hovering above his head and calling for him, but he can’t really bring himself to say anything to them. He’s having— he thinks he’s having a bit of difficulty grasping it all— one moment he was thinking about not being able to use the bar feature in four more years, and then… and _then..._

Is this… is this real?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he chokes, “i-i-is this real? Can you— c-can you, s-shit, _find him?”_

_“Running the search now.”_

Peter lets out a choked sob, bringing a hand to his masked mouth and presses down. The others in the room have gone quiet, listening to the one-sided discussion; Peter’s words were enough to alert them that something big _might_ be going on.

It’s big. It’s so, so big. Peter doesn’t really understand how this could be happening. He wonders whether he fell unconscious after the unexpected meeting with the table, and this is just a dream.

Suddenly it seems much more plausible. The way his head feels definitely doesn’t match up to reality. It’s… everything is way too hazy, and his vision is spinning and blurring, and he feels like he’s lying on the ceiling instead of the floor—

_“Location found,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, professional and emotionless. _“Sending data over to Karen. Deleting call data as per Karen’s request.”_

_“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”_

_“My pleasure, Karen.” _

There’s a beep that Peter, somewhere in the back of his head, deduces belonging to F.R.I.D.A.Y. signing off, but the thought is overrun by the flip of his stomach.

A map shows up on his HUD, a red icon of the Iron Man mask blinking over… Wyoming.

Peter starts shaking.

“Queens? _Queens??”_

“I— hh— hnnh—” Peter chokes, and then promptly bursts into a heart-wrenching sob, pushing himself into a sitting position.

It’s been several days since the last time he really cried. Must be a new record for the past two weeks.

He sobs and feels like he can’t breathe.

“T-T-_Tony—”_ he snivels, fighting for breath, and small but strong hands weave themselves around him.

_“Shh,” _Natasha whispers, cradling him closer. “Breathe, _breathe,_ Peter.”

She talks into his ear, her voice barely above a breath, and so Peter is quite sure the others don’t hear his name, but at this point he is way past caring. Wanda already knows already too, and, oh _God…_

“I-I-I _have his location,”_ the words burst out with another sob, and relief starts coursing through him in big waves, crashing against all the misery and anticipation, leaving him feeling lightheaded and weightless. He blubbers with abandon, openly and wetly, not able to stop it.

“What the damn fuck?” he hears Mr. Wilson say, and more feels than sees the glare both Wanda and Steve would be directing towards the man right now.

“T-t-the suit r-reset a-and opened a n-new protocol,” Peter explains wobbly through his sniffles. “It— it has— Mr. S-Stark has a tracker with him, I h-h-have his _l-location!”_

“Where? Where is he?” That is Steve, sounding urgent, but his voice has gone steely. He’s already thinking about the next mission, and here Peter is, gasping for breath and being an overall baby. God, ugh, no _wonder_ Mr. Stark would have a _double _Training Wheels on him, with Peter reacting like _this_ to something like… like _this…_

“W-W-Wyoming.”

“Wanda, Sam, the office—”

“On it.”

“We’ll be in the jet,” Natasha says briskly, and then she’s pulling Peter to his feet, not giving him any mercy whatsoever when it comes to dragging him outside the base, through the forest and into the Quinjet.

Once there, she sits him down on the bench and pulls off his mask, bringing up a handkerchief from one of her waist pouches. She starts dabbing at Peter’s face with surprising gentleness, wiping away the tears that just keep on coming, alongside with blood from his hey, apparently _broken nose._ Funny how those things happen—

Her face, however, could as well be made of wax.

“Nat, I didn’t k-know,” Peter says, his voice hoarse and broken, somehow needing to ensure Natasha that he _didn’t know_ such a protocol existed, that this wasn’t just a ploy to get to know her and the others. “I didn’t know it existed, that the protocol was there—”

“I know. We know,” Natasha says, voice not giving anything away. “If we show you a map of Wyoming, can you pinpoint his location?”

“Y-yes, yes, o-of course.”

“Well then,” Natasha straightens her back and offers him his mask back, and then there is a smile on her face, dangerous and calculating. Peter would hate to be the bad guy at the receiving end of that smile. “Let’s rescue him.”

It becomes a whirlwind from that moment forward. Natasha readies the jet for the flight while Peter puts himself up into a ready state; that includes him sniffling in the bathroom for a little while, and then pulling himself together to clean his face and suit up. His nose and other cheek are black and blue, and there is dried blood all over his lip that Natasha didn’t wipe away, and Peter washes it away with shaking hands. There’s nothing he can do about the nose, though, and he can only hope that the swelling and bruises go down before he’s facing Mr. Stark. He’s pretty sure this sight wouldn’t be welcomed warmly — especially if Mr. Stark hears about how it came to be.

Oh, no. Peter shudders. He would never hear the end of it — swinging in front of that table… —Jesus. _So embarrassing._

By the time he crawls out of the small bathroom with his mask back on, the others have piled into the Quinjet and Natasha is already sitting at the console, flicking at the switches and preparing for takeoff. Steve is standing there, leaned towards her with one arm sprawled over the back of the pilot’s seat, and they’re speaking to each other in low voices. Peter _could_ technically listen in on them, but that’d be _so_ rude. Besides, Natasha would _know,_ because she knows _everything,_ and even though Peter thinks she wouldn’t kill him for eavesdropping, he can’t be entirely sure, because it’s _the Black Widow,_ and she’s _scary._

Peter gives a hesitant smile to Wanda before realizing that she can’t really see it, and just ends up giving an awkward thumbs-up. She’s regarding him with open worry in her eyes, and Peter starts making his way towards where she’s sitting to maybe explain that there’s no need to worry about his sudden breakdown, he’s _totally totally_ okay. _So okay._

“Hey, creepy-crawly,” Mr. Wilson suddenly calls out, and for once there is nothing left of the slightly hostile undertone in his voice. He just sounds business-like, as do the others where they’re conversing with each other in low voices. “There are two bases in Wyoming. Show me which one it is.”

“Oh, right, yes, of course, right away, sir, Mr. Wilson,” Peter immediately changes directions, scrambles towards him and almost throws himself against the wall Mr. Wilson is leaning against, his laptop held in one hand.

“It’s, it’s, it’s neither?” he says after a moment of staring at the map, eyebrows knitting together. “He, he’s here,” he points at the exact spot where Karen is still showing the blinking Iron Man mask. It’s in the west, South-East to Yellowstone, in the middle of some mountains. Pretty much in the middle of nowhere, which isn’t really a surprise.

There are coordinates at the bottom of his HUD, and he rattles them off to Mr. Wilson before anyone else can say a word.

“Well, shit, bite me,” Mr. Wilson says, sounding gruff. “You just found us a new base.”

“O-o-oh. Um. S-sorry?” Peter winces at how his voice goes up an octave, but Mr. Wilson shakes his head.

“It’s cool, kid. Nat, you got those?”

“That’s a three-hour flight, we’ll be there before lunchtime. Buckle up, boys. Yup.” Natasha lets the p pop in her mouth, hits a couple of more buttons, and almost as soon as the engine starts, they’re hovering above the ground.

Peter steps away from Mr. Wilson, fidgeting before settling down onto a seat that’s closer to Wanda than Mr. Wilson, and buckles himself up along with the others. Steve has sat down closest to Natasha, and there’s a deep, deep National Frown on his face.

As they take off, Peter idly wonders if he’s in shock. He feels like he’s taking this “we have Mr. Stark’s location” -thingy in a much calmer way than he _should._ Okay, there are tremors going through his body, all the way starting from the bottom of his feet up to his shoulders, and his head feels a little bit fuzzy, and he’s somehow feeling like he should do the macarena and lie down at the same time, but other than that he is feeling pretty chill. But maybe it’s just the shock. Wow. He has a bar feature.

“Kid—” Mr. Wilson begins, sitting opposite him, the laptop having disappeared into a backpack that rests near his feet. He’s pulled out his crazy big gun arsenal and is now checking through them one by one. “Can you explain what the damn fuck just happened out there?”

It’s presented as a request, but Peter gets a feeling he doesn’t have a choice. Also, how cool is it that Mr. Wilson is actually speaking to him? And called him _kid??_ Aw, the Falcon really likes him already. Ned is going to throw him out of the window!

“Oh yes,” Wanda turns sharp eyes on him, and Peter senses Steve’s gaze drilling into his temple too. “We were all very worried for a moment.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mr. Wilson says, and both Wanda and Steve give him the Eyebrow. Mr. Wilson shuts up.

“Uh,” Peter swallows, wonders how much he should explain. They can’t think he’s over 25, can they? And under 25 — that’s a bit young, but that would be — he could still play it like he’s 21 or something — no need telling them that he _can’t_ use the bar feature yet, which is a _bummer._ “You see—”

“Can you do a _short_ version?” Mr. Wilson holds up a hand, looking pained already, and Peter thinks it’s totally fair. He was planning on a short version anyway!

_“So._ You see, um, well. Mr. Stark used to have this _‘Training Wheels’_ protocol installed in the suit that gave me limited access to, to all the functions, and, um. Me and my friend, when we broke into the suit, we kinda… deleted that protocol? So I got access to Karen and all other kinda _cool_ stuff, and, uh. Mr. Stark didn’t take those away once I’d got them, but he must’ve… he must’ve added a new one for when I’m… older. Uhhhh. M-more experienced.”

Wanda, Steve, and Mr. Wilson each give him a questioning raise of an eyebrow. He’s pretty sure Natasha is smirking in the pilot’s seat. There’s a _feeling_ in the air that’s only present when she’s smiling.

“So, uh, when I got smashed in the face, I think something went… wrong in the suit?? Some circuits took a hit, maybe, like, what do I know about the effects of getting hit by a metallic table — so Karen felt she needed to reset the suit, and at the same time the lock on the new protocol disappeared, I think — Mr. Stark probably hadn’t thought of it to the end, ‘cos he thought he’d— he’d have more time, um, before I’m, well, uh, _experienced_ enough — and, and, in the protocol there’s… he... um…”

Peter wonders whether he’s _allowed_ to tell this to the others. He’s currently the _only_ living person aside from Mr. Stark who knows about the tracking chip.

What’s worse, he’s currently travelling with _Captain America._ Peter has mainly forgotten his initial wariness of Steve and his squad, because they’re just… such nice people, they are, but Mr. Stark still hates their _guts._ Or at least would probably prefer this kind of secret being hidden.

Then again… he’s going to have to explain. They didn’t even check the transmission feed, because that would take time. The others are now just blindly trusting that Peter has the solution, that he has Mr. Stark’s location, and are following his instructions. He _owes_ them an explanation. Mr. Stark would agree on that.

(Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t complain about it for the rest of Peter’s life.)

(Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? Peter lives by that rule, and thus has been proved that Mr. Stark rivals Aunt May in giving lectures. When the two of them get going — there’s no saving Peter. But he has survived before. He’ll survive this time too.)

_(MAYBE.)_

“There’s a— a tracking chip under his skin, which… which I didn’t know about. Uh. No one knows about. It. The chip. Um,” Peter says with a hoarse voice, the others listening carefully. “I— I got access to its location with the new protocol. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said something about, um, Mr. Stark knowing he can trust me to help him, when I’m older, that is. Or, uh, more responsible, I think. So that’s why I got his, his location.”

“So you’re saying,” Mr. Wilson begins, and Peter stiffens, waits for the comment that he _can’t_ be over 18, you’re off the mission, kid, but Mr. Wilson continues, “that all we had to do to find Stark was to punch you in the face?”

“Uhh,” Peter blinks.

Then nods.

“I spent all that time with the transmission data for _nothing??” _Mr. Wilson shrieks. Peter offers him an empathetic look. The man probably wanted to do the punching himself.

“Like, _real_ hard, though,” he supplies helpfully, and sees from the corner of his eye the National Frown on Steve’s face morph into a shamed grimace. At the same time, Natasha twists over in the pilot’s seat to give him a _Look _that has Peter _shivering._

Steve looks _mildly_ scared, which is less than what Peter would be. Then, the man turns to him, the grimace taking an apologetic note.

“Look, sorry— that— the table— I should’ve checked where you are, but you’re not usually part of the missions— I don’t know how you move—”

“It’s okay,” Peter says to him cheerfully. “I got the coolest bruise on my cheek and my nose is _probably_ healed. It’ll be aaall gone by the time we reach Mr. Stark!”

“Which is good,” Wanda says, looking at Steve, “because otherwise you would have to explain to him _why_ Spidey’s face is black and blue.”

Steve shudders.

“I don’t want to give him any more motivation into shooting me than he already has,” he mutters, and Peter suddenly realizes they’re _this_ close to finding Mr. Stark.

Something cold and heavy that’s been sitting in the pit of his stomach ever since the explosion in front of Isabelle’s starts melting away, and suddenly he feels warm. Warm and _giddy. Macarena time._

“Anyway,” Mr. Wilson sighs, with an expression of _guess I’m going to have to do this,_ “You don’t think you would let me take a look at that face? Your nose cracked that metallic table in _half.”_

“To be fair, it felt like the table cracked my _nose_ in half,” Peter chirps before he rethinks his words and the situation and deduces that this was not the best way of approaching Mr. Wilson’s words. Especially seeing the way Steve winces.

“That might be a good idea,” the man says, looking at Peter with a frown that includes both guilt and worry, and wow, for some reason that expression makes Peter want to tear his mask off and recite, like, the national anthem or something.

“...No,” he says, cautiously, because the Captain’s Face of Worry needs to be watched out for. He whips his head back to Mr. Wilson. “No, I’m fine, it’s fine, thank you, Mr. Wilson, you’re awesome.”

Mr. Wilson rubs a hand over his face.

_“Fuck it—_ just call me Sam,” he says. “I thought in the beginning that some respect is good, but you’re starting to make me feel old. Especially since you call all the others by their first name.”

“Oh, oh, okay, Mr— Sam, sir Falcon, okay,” Peter beams at him, and gives Wanda a wide-eyed look of “_can you believe?? I’m calling him Sam!!”. _Wanda smiles at him encouragingly, and Peter settles into his seat, his veins… trembling as something hot shoots through them.

They’re gonna rescue Mr. Stark, and even the Falcon likes him now!

Last time Peter felt this good was in the ice cream parlor, and it gives him hope. He’ll greet Mr. Stark with a smile. He’ll— he’ll probably hug the man, even though he’s not sure whether they’re there yet, but he— he needs it. But he’s gonna do it with a smile, and Mr. Stark is… he’s finally coming _home._

Hotness surges up into his eyes and he sniffs a little, blinks, and a couple of salty tears are swallowed by the mask’s fabric.

“Karen,” he says quietly, wrapping his arms around himself. “...Could you explain the new functions of the suit thoroughly? I need to— I need to kill some time, ‘cos it’s gonna be like, three hours, and I’m gonna _die_ of boredom, I know it—”

_“Certainly, Peter. Which one do you want to start with?”_

“...The bar feature?”

_“The bar feature, which comes with a ‘warm reminder that alcohol is never the answer’, includes a map, the average ratings for each bar from several sites, counting TripAdvisor, Google, LikeALocal, and others. In the bottom left you’ll find Mr. Stark’s personal review——”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think!!! KAREN EX MACHINA.
> 
> Next chapter................... WHAT'S IN WYOMING???!?
> 
> you can also find me on [tumblr!](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com)
> 
> ### // UPDATE 20.4.2020
> 
> THIS STORY **ISN'T** ABANDONED!!! I'm working on the next chapter which is slow-going due to several reasons - I've had to rewrite most of it, and I've had a really difficult spring with uni (I'm writing my BA thesis + doing a ton of courses on top of that) - and I was diagnosed with ADHD in February, which has naturally caused its own troubles. It's been so hard that it culminated in my first ever breakdown (which was SCARY and i didn't know why i was suddenly crying all the time??) a couple of weeks ago, which says something about the stress levels I've been in... But I've been making changes to my life and easing a little with my studies, which should give me more time to concentrate on finishing this fic, which I really want to do!!! So this HASN'T been abandoned, I just haven't had a chance for writing this - or any of my other projects in other fandoms. SO PLEASE BE PATIENT, MORE WILL COME!!


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